


far side of the moon

by zouee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bottom Louis, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rich Zayn, Summer Love, Underage - Freeform, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:09:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouee/pseuds/zouee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where louis’ summer holidays are blessed (or cursed) by the new boy next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Austinattack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austinattack/gifts).



> thank you to Austinattack for prompting this! was a pleasure to write and i apologise for it in advance haha
> 
> this will also unfortunately be my last fic! my schedule has quickly become so busy after getting hired for full-time work plus studying for 2 courses at the same time leaves me hardly any time to sit down and type something! i've enjoyed writing so much for this fandom, especially writing about these 2 :) i wish you all the very best and thank you so much for all that have taken the time to read my stuff, kudo and comment, it means so much!!
> 
> with that being said, i hope you all enjoy this <3
> 
> (title from Tinashe's song "Far Side of the Moon")

-

 

The house has always been sickening to Louis.

It’s an obnoxious and dramatic building; complete with a garage fit for three and fake foliage decorating the front lawn (an actual fucking _palm tree_. They’re not even _near_ any beach whatsoever). The house is alien, not belonging on Louis’ street at all. It’s like everyone else is suburban living, and then there’s this multi-million dollar estate in the middle of it—looking like it belongs on some island in the middle of the ocean instead.

He remembers scoffing at it as a child when it was being built—he had to watch three houses get torn down in order for this one to be developed—and he remembers scowling at it when it was completed. He’d walk home and picture throwing a rock through one of the fancy windows, decorated with pretty black linings, just to see who would have to fix it or who would yell at him.

Now he’s in high school, his last year, and he sort of thought nobody would ever move in. The house has been up and completely furnished for around thirteen years now, yet nobody’s even looked at the house, nor has it ever been up for sale.

Louis tells his mother he thinks it’s some kind of pathetic joke, like some rich kid has ordered for a massive, stuck-up house to be built in some poor, middle-class street just to say _ha-ha, look who has it better than you_ .

So, when he turns into his street on his skateboard, headphones in his ears contently humming along to a summer tune he’s been replaying ever since it came out, he’s extremely surprised to see cars parked in the large driveway with bulky men walking in and out of the house, their arms filled with duct-taped cardboard boxes.

It’s strange to see, really. There’s actually going to be someone living next to him, someone who can _afford_ this house.

He skates closer, curious to see who it is. He’s already made a mental bet with himself that it’s a famous celebrity, maybe someone old who’s basically retired, needing this house as a sort of getaway. But it really wouldn’t be preferred, actually, now that he remembers he’s got a perfect view of their pool from his window. 

He shudders at the imagery. 

“Where’d you want this, mum?” 

Louis blinks at the voice. It definitely does not belong to someone in their sixties. It sounds like someone Louis’ age—a boy, too. 

He’s closer to the house now, stopping abruptly once he reaches his own front lawn. He scans the neighbour’s driveway until his eyes land on the voice, and his balance embarrassingly falters on his usually trustworthy board at the sight of him. 

The stranger looks like someone Louis would, admittedly, make up in his dreams. From the dark complexion that looks golden underneath the sunlight, to the opaque features of his eyes and hair. Louis also doesn’t miss the way the boy’s tattooed arms appear to bulge through his shirt as he holds up a cardboard box filled with possessions. 

And Louis feels his mouth go dry, staring blankly at the boy, at this ethereal beauty. He blames the sweat that’s appeared on his skin on the weather.

“Just put it all inside the house, love, we’ll deal with it later.” A woman—the boy’s mum, Louis assumes—tells her son. She walks passed, phone to her ear, into the house.

The boy shifts the box in his grip and turns towards the doorway. Louis’ chest sort of flutters at the fact that he’s helping the movers. It’s a small act, Louis knows, not something he should bloody _swoon_ over, but he’s glad. At least he’s not some snobby, spoilt teenager who sits back and gets everything he needs from the snap of his fingers.  

And Louis finds himself unable to tear his eyes away. He’s a curious soul—always has been—but he immediately regrets it as soon as the new neighbour glances his way.  
  
He stops, too, like he’s confused as to why someone’s  _staring_ at him. And Louis can see the slight furrowing of his brows from where he’s standing.  
  
Louis blinks, quickly debating whether or not to greet him in some way or another. But it seems that his flight or fight response kicks in and he’s fleeing, breaking their brief eye contact, and stepping on his skateboard to flip it up and catch it.  
  
He disappears into his own house without another chanced look.   


“Shit,” He says to himself once he’s inside, door closed.

He wonders how he must’ve looked to the stranger, running off like that as though he’s never seen another person before. And honestly, he thought as a person who is singularly known for his outspoken character, he’d have a little more charm when it comes to strangers.  
  
Though, obviously, this one’s intimidating. He’s probably powerful and insanely business-smart. Also, Louis guesses, his devastating attractiveness is a small factor to consider, too.

-

He definitely does not look out his window where he can see the boy’s house once he’s showered and has a million other things he could do. And he definitely does  _not_ keep looking when the boy’s outside, in nothing but shorts, lying next to the pool as the sun surrounds his body.  
  
It’s a crime, really, to look _that_ good and to be a constant presence in Louis’ eyesight. This boy is something like an undoubtedly oblivious and inconsiderate tease, someone who’s entered Louis’ life like a tornado in disguise, and he’s ultimately, inconceivably destroying Louis’ confident demeanour the more he looks at him.  
  
It’s been a week since he and his mother moved in. And he’s been sitting by the poolside more times than Louis can keep count.  
  
It’s not like he  _has_ been keeping count, of course—that would be insanely obsessive, and an obvious realisation that he needs to perhaps find another hobby—but it just so happens that mostly every time Louis enters his room, the boy’s also there.  
  
And today he’s stretched out on the banana lounge, his arms placed above his head, sunglasses covering his eyes from the strength of the rays in the sky. He looks so incredibly desirable and carefree, as though getting an even tan is his biggest worry.  
  
It should make Louis fume, make him close his blinds and mutter something like  _stupid rich kids_ —but it doesn’t. Instead, Louis leans a little closer, inspecting him a little more.  
  
He’s got tattooed art scattered around different parts of his chest and arms, ones so strategically placed it makes his body look like some sort of professional collage, adding to the other elements of his already artwork-like self.  
  
Though, when the boy shifts his position to turn onto his stomach, face down, his back muscles glistening under the heated rays, Louis rolls his eyes at himself and lands, face down, too, onto his bed.  
  
He  _knows_ he’s making things worse for himself already. He convinces himself that the only reason why this stranger has so quickly entranced him is because of his endless boredom—his time spent doing nothing except skating around town and procrastinating study.  
  
It’s possibly very pathetic of him to even scope out his new neighbour through a window—possibly a little perverted, too. Though, he’s allowed to admire someone from afar, isn’t he? Especially when his form of eye-candy is  _right there._  
  
He runs a hand down his face and picks up the phone on his bedside table, replying to a text one of his friends had sent him around two hours ago complaining about his family holiday. They can talk about meeting up again, and stuff. Things that’ll make him stop feeling like a jittery, swooning mess over a person he doesn’t even know the name of.  
  
-  
  
The boy’s name is Zayn Malik and he apparently happens to be a big deal. The Malik’s, so he’s been told, own a couple of successful companies under their name, ones that have branched out to America, ones that Louis has seen advertised many times.  
  
“The girls were all excited when Trisha joined the circle,” Louis’ mother continues to explain to him, talking about the local Woman’s Book Club that she attends every Thursday, “We hit it off, actually. Even went out for coffee afterwards.”  
  
She says the last bit like she’s proud of it, or as though Mrs Malik took her to a posh café, and she didn’t have to pay a cent. Probably both.  
  
“Lovely, she is.” His mother goes on, unpacking the groceries that are placed on the kitchen bench. “An extremely hard-working woman, also. I sort of admire her actually.”  
  
His mother lets out a small laugh and Louis bumps his hip against hers softly, “Hey, you’re the hardest working mum on earth.”  
  
She gives him a sweet look and pinches Louis’ cheek, making him grin.  
  
“Well, just letting you know, she’s invited us all over to their house for dinner on Monday. And I know you’re not doing anything so I already said you’re coming.”  
  
Louis’ eyes almost bulge out of his head, “You—mum,  _why_ ?”  
  
She pauses her movements and frowns questionably at him, “Is that a problem?”  
  
“Like, it’s just a bit weird, is it not?” Louis replies, swallowing deeply. He’s had dinner with other families before, but they’ve been his friend’s families, ones he’s known for years. He’s never even  _met_ any of the Malik’s before. He’d feel like an intruder—like an out-of-place, underprivileged intruder.  
  
“Yeah, a bit,” She agrees, turning back to her groceries, “But don’t tell me you haven’t fantasised about being in that castle of a house before.”  
  
Louis snorts and rolls his eyes. He won’t admit it, but he definitely has thought about trespassing and peering into their windows just to see how large and pretentious it is.  
  
“Yeah, alright, I’ll go.” Louis says.  
  
-  
  
Their house definitely is something of a castle, like a mansion built specifically for a member of royalty. It looks even classier and more unattainable at night, with the huge, golden porch lights illuminating the intricate detail and cleanliness of each pattern and design. Louis almost feels guilty for stepping onto the wooden stairs leading up to the house in his cheap, on-sale shoes.  
  
When Charlotte, his sister, rings the doorbell, a melodic, loud tune is heard and it rings throughout the house. Louis’ not sure whether the echo he hears is created by the spaciousness of the room or if it’s programmed to do so. Either way, he’s never felt more nervous standing outside someone’s door.  
  
Seconds later, the door opens, revealing an older man in white gloves and a suit.  
  
“Evening,” He greets, eyeing up Louis and his family, “Name?”  
  
The man looks nothing like Zayn, or his mother, and Louis assumes he must be their butler, or someone else that rich people have.  
  
Louis’ mother opens her mouth, sort of stunned by the formal, exclusive greeting, “Uhh, hello, we’re—“  
  
“Oh! Is that Johannah?” A voice appears, a few spaces behind the man at the door. “Let them in, this is the family I was telling you about!”  
  
The butler nods once, then opens the door further, revealing an  _extremely_ posh interior, with objects and furniture that could be shown on display in a museum or art gallery. The colour scheme is red, gold and shades of black and white. There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the living room and a fireplace that takes up the entire wall. Louis breathes out impressively, eyes wide.  
  
And as he’s too busy staring at it in awe, he doesn’t even notice the woman hugging his mother until she’s in front of him.  
  
“You must be Louis?” She asks, giving a pleasant smile as she looks at him.  
  
“Y-Yeah, uh, Trisha, is it?” Louis replies, not as poised as he would’ve liked to be. God, maybe it’s only the rich and powerful aspect of this family that makes him a nervous, stuttering mess.  
  
“Yes,” She says, her styled dark hair bouncing slightly around her face as she nods, “I see you’re also the only male within a family of sisters.” She lets out a small laugh, “It’s like my own son, he’s surrounded by three of them!”  
  
Louis raises his eyebrows and nods once or twice, not knowing what else to say. Thankfully, Trisha moves onto Félicité and lets Louis simmer in his own thoughts, mostly completely captivated by the money that would’ve been spent to obtain everything his eyes are seeing.  
  
After Zayn’s mother greets everyone individually, she leads them all into a different part of the house, the dining room. On the way there, the girls all gasp and make cooing noises as they spot everything in sight. Louis  _would_ be slightly embarrassed, since they’re making it seem like they’ve never seen anything like this before, but he can’t blame them, honestly. This house is beautiful.  
  
“Zayn should be coming home soon, his work called him in unexpectedly this morning, but he finishes in a few minutes.” Trisha explains as they all take their seats around a very long, massive dining table.  
  
Louis silently questions why in god’s name Zayn would still work when he already has all the riches he could ever need. Maybe it’s for the family’s company.  
  
“How’re the girls and Yaser?” Louis’ mother asks Trisha once they’ve all seated.  
  
Meanwhile, Phoebe and Daisy are sitting with straight backs, hands clasped in their laps, chin up. Louis eyes them sceptically.  
  
“They said they need to be proper because it’s the ‘rules’, apparently.” Charlotte explains to him, rolling her eyes.  
  
Louis scoffs, “Of course.”  
  
Trisha and Louis’ mother talk about how the Malik girls are staying with Yaser as he finishes some business over in America, and is expected home later this week. Louis’ mother and Trisha talk about how Louis’ step dad is taking care of the little ones at home, not wanting to have them disrupting dinner. For a few moments, they’re the only ones talking; the rest of the room stilled in silence, the girls noticeably becoming impatient and hungry.  
  
Louis’ stomach grumbles just as the sound of the front door being open hits everybody’s ears. It’s not as sudden to everyone else as it is to Louis—the sound of a particular person entering the house—but his body stiffens instantly, his hand coming up to fix his fringe like he does when he’s nervous.  
  
Félicité eyes him off, noticing something off-kilter about her brother but Louis just pulls a funny face at her, her face changing to a small smile and a roll of her eyes. Louis hears the butler greeting Zayn and taking his coat. Louis’ stomach clenches at the anticipation of seeing him.  
  
It’s not a minute later when Zayn finally enters the room, a smile on his face as he nods to the room collectively, then bends down to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek.  
  
Louis locks his eyes on him immediately, scoping him out as quickly as he can before Zayn returns his attention to the rest of the table.  
  
He’s wearing a normal t-shirt with jeans; his hair styled briefly, up off his face, his features so visible to Louis, since he can now see more than his body and the definite outlines of him. He’s got incredible eyes, a colour so warm and inviting, a colour so contrastingly different to Louis’ blue ones. There’s not a flaw on him from what Louis can visibly see—and it’s not like he’s  _searching_ for them, but it’d be comforting to know that he has one, or any, so that Louis doesn’t feel so out of his league.  
  
He quickly summarises that it’d be impossible to scope a single imperfection on this boy. He radiates light and natural beauty and—fuck, Louis  _has_ to stop looking at him.  
  
Converting his gaze to the white, sheer tablecloth instead, he focuses his whole attention on it, his fingers playing together in his lap.  
  
The window behind him is covered by thin, creamy coloured curtains that still allow the moonlight outside to creep in faintly, the glow of it flooding into the room, brighter than the dim lighting.  
  
Conversation flows around the table but Louis doesn’t say a word. He does feel eyes on him, though, eyes that burn up Louis’ cheeks.  
  
The sound of somebody else entering the room makes Louis break eye contact with the cloth, and looks towards the butler from before, arms filled with full plates. And as the girls share their excitement for food, Louis still feels the eyes from across the table, dark and intrigued, locked on like they’re yelling at him to notice.  
  
He doesn’t meet them, though, knows who they belong to and would hate to have a clumsy, hesitant greeting the first time they speak. Instead, Louis thanks the butler when one of the plates are presented in front of him, and tries to keep his head down for the remaining time of dinner.  
  
“So, what are your plans during summer, Louis?”  
  
Louis swallows at the direction of conversation, silently thankful it was Trisha, not Zayn. He looks at her and attempts to not be distracted by the stillness of the boy directly in front of him, the gaze so hot it could burn.  
  
“Not too much, Mrs Malik, to be honest.” Louis tells her, a polite smile as he talks, “All my friends have actually left me on my own, seems like all their family’s wanted a vacation at the same time.”  
  
He says it with character, light-heartedness, and Trisha lets out a small laugh.  
  
“That’s a shame.” She says, “Leaves you more time to get all that studying done, then.”  
  
She winks at him kindly and Louis laughs and nods, very carefully trying to suppress the colour appearing on his cheeks from the never-ending attention he’s receiving from Zayn. Really, is Louis  _that_ interesting to him?  
  
Or maybe he’s trying to figure Louis out, only knowing him as the boy who ran off.  
  
“Louis doesn’t study,” Daisy chips in, a hint of mischievousness in her voice.  
  
Louis turns to her, eyebrows raised, mock-offended, “Way to make me look good, missy.”  
  
He grins at her as he brings up his hand and messes up her hair. She giggles loudly and knocks Louis’ hand away.  
  
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come by anytime.” Trisha tells Louis, “Zayn would love the company, I’m sure.”  
  
Louis’ smile falters slightly, tearing his eyes away from Daisy, looking at Trisha. She’s staring at him expectantly, kindly, and Louis feels the eyes from across the table lock onto the side of his face.  
  
“Yeah, course.” Louis says, voice slightly soft and croaky.  
  
He chances a look at Zayn, just one tiny peep, that’s it.  
  
He doesn’t know what else he expected, to be honest. But when he’s met with Zayn’s eyes it makes him swallow harshly, and when Zayn’s lips tilt up into a small smirk, Louis has to shift into his chair.  
  
“Sounds good.” Zayn says, eyes never leaving Louis’.  
  
And Louis  _knows_ his cheeks disobey him, burning up as he smiles shyly before dropping Zayn’s gaze, going back to the table.  
  
He doesn’t say anything else after his conversation with Trisha, except another small thank you when the plates are cleared. But Zayn talks during dinner, his smooth and delicate voice filling up his ears.  
  
Louis learns that Zayn’s only working casual shifts at the bookstore down the road, doesn’t say why. He also learns that Zayn can charm everyone in the room with a mere look, judging by the way Louis’ mum and sisters all seem to stay silent and utterly compelled by every word Zayn speaks.  
  
He’s glad he didn’t catch Zayn’s eyes—not if it had meant he’d be a cooing mess for the entirety of dinner.  
  
“Did you all want some dessert?” Trisha asks the table, followed by the girls cheering.  
  
Louis’ mother laughs softly, “I don’t think we should, the girls need to be up early tomorrow. It’d take them hours to become quiet if they have sugar.”  
  
Trisha hums and nods in agreement, “Well, we don’t want that to happen now, do we?”  
  
They all make their way out into the main room again, Zayn not following. Louis’ glad that he didn’t, or else he’d feel obliged to say good-bye, maybe.  
  
They all thank Trisha and leave the house, the moon sitting in the clear sky, the stars beaming down.  
  
It’s colder tonight than it is during the day, but it’s a relaxing coldness, refreshing. It clears Louis’ mind, even though the girls are yapping away with their thoughts on the house, the food, Zayn.  
  
“Did anybody else notice his eyelashes?” Phoebe says, “He didn’t even have mascara on and they were still longer than Lottie’s!”  
  
Félicité laughs as Charlotte pouts and Louis tries to block out the noise.  
  
His cheeks still feel warm, left over from the heat Zayn was directing at him, giving him something of a hot flush. Or maybe it was just in Louis’ imagination, that Zayn’s eyes were burning into the depth of his soul, maybe he’s only being conceited,  _wishing_ that it happened.  
  
When they get home, Louis says goodnight and falls on his bed as soon as he enters his room. He doesn’t bother turning on the light, just lets the shining glow of the moon wash over the floor, giving him enough light to see.  
  
When he closes his eyes, though, it’s a different sort of light, one that fills his mind, one with strong yet calm features, a soft voice, a hard gaze.  
  
Boredom; is what this is.  
  
-  
  
It’s Tuesday, a new day. Louis doesn’t wake up refreshed, or keen to leave his bed at all. Instead, he awakes to blinding light, nature’s way of saying  _get up you lazy shit_ and it works, because he’s got no choice but to keep his eyes open—brightness like stars covering the darkness of his eyelids if he tries to get back to sleep, making it impossible.  
  
He does lie in bed for a few more minutes, though, blinking slowly and letting his mind adjust. He picks up his phone, disconnecting it from the charger, and replies to all his friends’ messages that they must have sent him when he was at dinner over at the Malik’s.  
  
Louis sighs, his arm flopping over his eyes, resting there for a moment or two. It feels like such a task, getting out of bed. Especially since he’s got no plans for the day at all. Maybe he’ll skate over to the local swimming pool, cool off a little in the summer sun.  
  
Although… there _is_ another, much closer pool he could go to.  
  
_”You’re more than welcome to come by anytime.”_ Trisha’s voice floats through Louis’ mind, blending in with Zayn’s hazel eyes, his small smirk…  
  
The thought flies out of his mind before he can even address it properly. He shakes his head, and flings his legs over the edge of his bed before rubbing at his eyes. Once up, he draws back the curtains to open up his window, letting some cool breeze in.  
  
And, what a sight he’s met with.  
  
Zayn Malik, stretched out on the pool longue, arms above his head, flawless body haunting Louis the more he tries not to stare.  
  
This time, though, Zayn’s got something like oil all over him, his gorgeous skin glistening beautifully. The impeccably clear and desirable pool having zero competition to the boy next to it.  
  
Zayn fidgets around on the longue, arching up his back, lifting his hips up as he does so. The sun shines on him gloriously, the oil making him wet and slick, his defined muscles clenching at the movement.  
  
Louis rubs at his eyes again, “Jesus,”  
  
It’s like he’s watching a pornographic video play out in real life—right outside his window. Zayn looks like a fucking  _model_ , and as he stretches out and readjusts his swim shorts, pulling them down far enough to expose the skin under his hipbones. Louis lets out a shaky breath.  
  
He’s definitely not awake enough for this. Except his cock definitely seems to be.  
  
A hand instinctively wraps around it, making Louis let out a small sigh.  
  
He blinks as soon as he does it, though. He looks down at Zayn again then curses at himself for being such a goddamn  _creep_ , and disappears into the bathroom.  
  
He continues in the shower. He convinces himself it’s not as bad if he wanks when the person he’s wanking over isn’t in front of his eyes—instead only in his mind.  
  
Waiting until the water’s at the right temperature, he steps underneath it and touches his cock automatically, letting his eyes flutter shut.  
  
He thinks of his naked-self crossing Zayn’s backyard, catching his eye. He pictures Zayn gesturing him to come closer, his intense eyes selflessly admiring Louis’ exposed body, staring hungrily at him. He thinks about sitting on Zayn’s lap, rubbing his hands down Zayn’s oiled up chest, the feeling of Zayn’s cock pressing into his arse.  
  
Louis strokes himself faster; thumb swiping at the tip, his other hand bracing himself against the shower tiles. His quick breaths coming out in pants.  
  
He imagines kissing Zayn, his lips on his own, Zayn’s soft hands caressing Louis’ back, holding his arse, grinding up into him, smooth voice moaning Louis’ name, his thick fingers gliding their way down Louis’ lower back…  
  
“Zayn,” Louis finds himself panting, eyes squeezed shut.  
  
He pumps himself faster, revelling in the intense stares, picturing himself being pushed against the pool lounge by Zayn’s strong hands, his cheeks hollowing and mouth wet as he takes Louis in—  
  
It’s enough for Louis to come with a gasp, a moan of Zayn’s name, his vision going blurry for a minute or two. And, afterwards, as he’s regaining himself and proceeding to rinse off, he starts to think that this isn’t boredom at all; but a deep, seriously worrying infatuation with the boy next door.  
  
-  
  
“Louis, love, could you do me a favour?” His mother calls from downstairs, her voice reaching from where Louis was actually  _trying_ to read some crappy textbook for Geometry class without falling asleep.  
  
He shuts the book anyway and tosses it on the floor. If he stops studying for his mum, then he won’t feel guilty, you see. He opens up his bedroom door, meeting her eyes from the top of the staircase. “Yeah?”  
  
“Could you water the garden while I’m out today? Forgot how rare rain is this time of year.”  
  
Louis nods to her and she thanks him before heading out the door with the twins.  
  
Even Doris and Ernest have more of a social life than he does. Fuck, maybe he should call up someone from one of his classes, like  _hey we don’t really talk much but we’ve worked on assignments together before so do you wanna hang out?_ But Louis second-guesses that idea partly from the fear of rejection, partly from the awkwardness of the situation he’d be in.  
  
So, he enters his room again and changes out from his pyjamas and into his summer shorts and a singlet that’s been hiding underneath a stack of scarves and jackets for months now, and puts on a pair of sunglasses and a bit of gel in his hair before he steps out of the house.  
  
The shed in their backyard is in need a serious clean-out—so much useless stuff that Louis’ pretty sure never gets used. Luckily, the watering can is right near the entrance, already half-filled.  
  
He turns the outside tap on, the pipes taking a few minutes before they start to produce water, and he fills the plastic container to the brim, the sun hot on his back.  
  
Louis welcomes the heat; closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sun, letting it touch and warm him up. If there’s anything he aims to achieve during these holidays, it would be to at least obtain a decent tan.  
  
Once the watering can’s filled, he starts on his mother’s home-grown tomatoes first, thinking that he’d start from one side of the backyard to the other, doing the boundaries first. They’re tiny, bright red tomatoes, growing great, it seems. The colour of them so vibrant, fitting into the atmosphere of the equally vibrant sun.  
  
It’s not long until Louis figures out that he can, in fact, see over the fence.  
  
He completely forgot—despite the fact that he’s had to water the garden many times, always daydreaming about invading and taking a swim in the all-too inviting pool—that he could legitimately see all of the neighbour’s backyard.  
  
Meaning, yeah, he can definitely see Zayn.  
  
There’s music playing softly next to him, from his phone, probably, and he’s wearing sunglasses so Louis’ not actually sure whether Zayn’s heard or seen him yet.  
  
Of course, Louis doesn’t wave at him, or call out his name, he just gives Zayn a few once-overs, and then returns back to the garden.  
  
But it’s pretty awful, really, because about two seconds later, Zayn’s getting up.  
  
He must have noticed Louis, must have seen him checking him out and not even saying hello. Shit, can he see Louis’ window from here?  
  
He turns his head and looks at his own house, trying to find his specific window, when—  
  
“Hey,” His voice, calm like the ocean, “Louis, right?”  
  
Louis turns to him and tries to act the complete opposite of breath-taken. His eyes lock with Zayn’s, though, so he’s basically fucked from here on out, anyway.  
  
“Yeah, uh, Zayn… was it?” Louis asks him, because it’s in his nature to play dumb, apparently.  
  
Zayn cracks a smile and Louis swallows deeply, realising that the vibrancy of any tomato or the sun couldn’t compare to the sight in front of him. Shit.  
  
“Yeah.” He says, nodding once, his sunglasses slightly falling from where they’re perched on his head. “We didn’t really, uh, get to talk last night.”  
  
Louis’ hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, clearing this throat. “Sorry, I think I was just having a moody one, to be honest.”  
  
He’s lying, but Zayn doesn’t have to know that. It’s actually ridiculous, though, that he looks even more outstanding when he’s righthere _—_ shirtless and shiny, the sun beaming down on him like a spotlight. He’s more visible like this than in the night-time; inside with ceiling lights as the only light to show him. Here, there’s no shadow. Yet, here, Louis’ brave enough to look him in the eye.  
  
Funny, that.  
  
“And here I was thinking you didn’t like me,” Zayn tells him, hand coming up to rest on the top of the fence. Louis glances at his fingers before glancing away just as fast. But then Zayn’s hand brushes against Louis’ shoulder as he says, “You should come over again, though.”  
  
Louis locks eyes with him, brain going fuzzy for a few seconds, like static on a screen. He’s sort of taken aback, really. Because, one, Zayn’s been thinking that Louis didn’t  _like_ him, for god’s sake. And two, he’s just invited Louis over. And touched him.  
  
He blinks, then realises that he’s still watering these damn tomatoes and almost drops the watering can. “Uh, yeah, alright.” He ends up saying, flicking his fringe out of his eyes out of habit.  
  
Zayn eyes search him, as though trying to figure something out, his eyebrows pressing slightly together. “’Course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  
  
Louis’ eyes widen, “No! Yeah, I mean, would be good to get to know each other, at least.”  
  
Zayn nods, giving him a kind, half smile, “I think so too.”  
  
Louis nods, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “So, um, what day would be good, then?”  
  
He watches as Zayn’s fingers move from Louis’ shoulder to below his own waistband near his hip. It exposes his skin, the dip of his hipbones, before Zayn brings out a cigarette. It’s only then that Louis notices the box of them in Zayn’s pants.  
  
“Do you want it?” Zayn asks him, holding the cigarette between his fingers.  
  
Louis pauses. He stares at Zayn’s perfect features, his incredible, bright disposition. “I don’t smoke.”  
  
But Zayn just grins at him, takes Louis’ hand, gives him a look as if to say  _you don’t need to_ , and places the dart into the palm of Louis’ hand.  
  
Louis takes his first glance towards it, notices a number written on it with pen.  
  
“You write your number on all your cigarettes?” Louis asks him, eyes still fixed on it, rolling it between his fingers, his insides fluttering pathetically.  
  
“Nah,” Zayn says, “Just this one.”  
  
Louis just nods. There’s something in the back of his mind saying that it’s bad, he shouldn’t get any closer. But Louis still palms the cigarette and saves it in the pocket of his shorts.  
  
“Send me a text whenever you wanna hang out, yeah? Having no friends around on summer holidays must get pretty boring.”  
  
Louis nods again, his throat dry, “Yeah,” He says, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ll, uh, text you tomorrow?”  
  
“Sounds good,” Zayn tells him, lifting off the fence, taking a step back with a smile just for him, “I gotta go, but, I’ll see you ‘round?”  
  
Louis finds himself smiling, too, “Okay.”  
  
When Zayn disappears into his house, Louis leans his back against the fence, tilting his head backwards as he lets out a small groan; the cigarette feeling like it’s burning a hole into the side of his thigh.  
  
-  
  
He makes it until tomorrow afternoon. He’s been thinking about texting Zayn ever since he added his number into his phone. He thought about it when he woke up, too, but didn’t want to come off as too eager.  
  
But it’s around twelve thirty now, and Louis decides to tap out the first text:  _Hey, it’s Louis_  
  
He throws his phone on his pillow and turns towards the bathroom to have a shower. Before he opens the door, though, his phone starts to buzz. Louis frowns. That was quick.  
  
_Hey :)_  
  
A second later it buzzes again.  
  
_Bored? X_  
  
Louis swallows. He ignores how his stomach seems to flutter at the kiss at the end.  
  
_Yeah, a bit haha. You free ?_  
  
He contemplates adding a kiss, too, but decides against it. Maybe Zayn’s was a mistake.  
  
_Course. I’ll come over in a bit xxx_  
  
Maybe not.  
  
Louis sends back a quick  _OK_ and hops into the shower.  
  
Zayn arrives at his house fifteen minutes later. The sound of a fist knocking on wood is heard and Louis accidentally drops his phone from being startled. He’s changed into a better-looking shirt and he’s fixed his hair into a bit of a quiff.  
  
He grabs his phone and wallet and takes two steps at a time when heading down the stairs. Pausing for a moment, he decides to put on his sunglasses that are on the table next to him. One of his friend’s said he looked cooler with them on—“ _like a young Leonardo DiCaprio, Lou_ ”—so it must be true.  
  
When he opens the door, Zayn looks up from his shoes and flashes Louis a smile, brown eyes slightly crinkling.  
  
Louis has to look away, he has no other choice. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“So, I was thinking, like, I’ll show you the school? You’ll be going there, yeah?”  
  
Zayn nods as Louis shuts and locks the front door. He’s decided it’ll be better hanging out in the open air, walking around town instead of being cooped up in Louis’ house with its subtly dim mood lighting and captivity. Which means that if Louis makes a fool of himself, or if something goes wrong, he has a million and one places where he can escape.  
  
It also may have something to do with the fact that he’ll be able to breathe a little easier.  
  
“Yeah, pretty nervous, like, starting school.” Zayn says, running a hand through his hair. “Mum tells me you’re graduating this year, though.”  
  
“I am, yeah.”  
  
“Sort of a shame, I reckon.” Zayn says, the two of them walking side by side, the sun hot on their shoulders, “I would’ve liked to be in classes with someone I knew, you know?”  
  
Louis looks at him. Zayn’s looking downwards, his profile unbelievably astonishing, his skin practically glowing underneath the earth’s light. He wonders how much younger he is than Louis. Maybe he’ll talk to his mum and slip it in the conversation.  
  
“You’ll be alright.” Louis reassures him.  
  
Zayn meets his eye, then, a smile growing on his face. Louis returns it and they look at each other for a second too long before Louis clears his throat and says:  
  
“Right, uh, we have to cross the road, here.”  
  
They spend the day strolling slowly around town, mainly talking about their past and futures, with Louis filling Zayn in on his stories about particular areas around town. Louis talks about his friends and Zayn talks about his own, how he misses them and how he wishes they’d moved with him; to which Louis boldly follows up with “well, you’ve got me now, haven’t you?”  
  
It’s a comfortable sort of vibe Louis feels with Zayn now. They click in a way that Louis didn’t think was possible at all, what with being in different socioeconomic classes, different ages and different exterior personalities—but Louis quickly finds the more they talk that they’re not that different at all, that they’re quite common in a way that’s sort of uncanny, like they could’ve grown up together in a different universe.  
  
“This is, like, where I spend most my time, usually.” Louis tells Zayn.  
  
They’re sitting at the local skate park, looking over it as they sit side by side up the top of where it dips down. It’s still hot but the sun’s sort of covered by the clouds in the sky. Louis’ legs are crossed as he fiddles with the hem of his shorts, something to do with his hands. Zayn’s legs hang over the edge, his feet bouncing off the cement lightly.  
  
“Can you do heaps of tricks and stuff?” Zayn asks him, leaning back on the palms of his hands.  
  
He shrugs in response, “A few, yeah. You should see some of the guys here, though. They’re incredible.”  
  
“Saw you, like, when we first moved in. You were on your skateboard and you flipped it up and caught it.” Zayn says, hand coming up to scratch at the stubble growing on his jawline. “Thought that was sick.”  
  
Louis laughs nervously, the sound unrecognisable to his own ears. “Could teach you, if you wanted?”  
  
Zayn hums, “That’d be cool.”  
  
They watch as cars drive past, the sounds of their motors and tires rolling on the road being the only sound they hear. It’s so silent in this part of town especially. Sometimes, when Louis’ feeling up to it, he’ll take a walk after dinner, after it’s just turned twilight, and he’ll revel in the quietness. It’s a break he takes when the noise at home becomes too much.  
  
“Must be cool being rich,” Louis says idly, picking off a loose string on his clothes, “Your house is incredible.”  
  
“House is incredible just like the boys who skate here are incredible, yeah?” Zayn says, a smile in his voice. “What a large vocabulary you have there.”  
  
Louis blushes and he hates himself for it. He turns away but a smile creeps on his face anyway, “Shut up.”  
  
Zayn lets out a small laugh, tongue in between his teeth, and he pats Louis’ arm, “Just messin’.”  
  
It’s a small interaction but Louis knows that after being with Zayn, he likes to do that a lot. Likes to touch and joke around and tease, something that Louis usually does to his friends all the time. It’s an odd concept to grasp—how Zayn is so similar to himself that Louis acts differently around him than he does to anyone else.  
  
“It’s good, though, not gonna lie.” Zayn admits, “Sort of annoying at the same time, like, you never know who’s just in it for the money.”  
  
Louis turns to him at that, his face softening. “You’ve encountered that? Like, people using you for your money?”  
  
“Oh, tonnes.” Zayn tells him, meeting his eyes. Louis stomach sort of drops. “It’s taught me how to distinguish the good from the bad, though.”  
  
“Yeah?” Louis says, licking his lips quickly, “And what am I?”  
  
Zayn cocks his head to one side, his eyes trailing over Louis’ face. Louis thinks he imagines the way they lingered on his lips.  
  
“Not sure yet,” Zayn tells him, “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”  
  
Louis drops his eyes, wringing his fingers together. “How, like, how do you usually find out?”  
  
“Instincts, usually,” Zayn tells him, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his thighs. “Like, you can get vibes. Also, they never are interested in what you have to say. Which is, like, really easy to notice.”  
  
Louis hums low, “Sorry you have to deal with that. Like, I can imagine that getting really annoying.”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn says, his fingers tracing the stitches of his shorts, “I really wanted to move into a normal house, you know? Like, yours is great, I think. Bargained with my mum, though, that’s why I’m allowed to go to a normal school.”  
  
Louis blinks, a smile slowly forming, “Ever been to a normal school before?”  
  
Zayn shakes his head; his big, brown eyes lock onto Louis’, a sense of question staring at him.  
  
“Well, you’ll get a shock, I’ll tell you that.”  
  
Zayn cocks a brow, “Why?”  
  
“I’m sure it’s a lot less posh than your other schools. Like a lot.”  
  
“Posh, hey?” Zayn says, his lips curving, “How do you mean?”  
  
“Like this,” Louis says, then proceeds to wiggle his bum a bit on the cement as he adjusts his position, ending up with the straightest back he’s ever had and his hands folded perfectly in his lap. And with an up-tilted head and a snobby accent, “Hi, I’m Geoffrey and I have about five thousand poles up my ass.”  
  
Louis slumps back into his normal position and turns to Zayn, who’s grinning as wide as he’s ever seen, his eyes curving up into little moons as he does so. The sound that comes out is even better, his head throwing back as he laughs out loud.  
  
And Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t feel privileged.  
  
“That’s actually… so spot on.” Zayn says, shaking his head. “My butler’s name is Geoffrey and everything.”  
  
Louis’ eyes widen and his hand flies up to cover his mouth, laughing guiltily, “Fuck, it’s not, is it?”  
  
Zayn nods, grinning, “Swear to god.”  
  
They both laugh loudly at the irony and the accuracy of it all. And Zayn, unsurprisingly, looks even more cute yet hot as anything in the way that his eyes shine as he laughs.  
  
“Shit,” Zayn still grins, sort of sighing as the laughter dies down, and then he leans back on his hands like before, eyes still on Louis, “Is everyone at this school like you?”  
  
And Louis scoffs, “No way. I’m one of a kind, Malik.”  
  
He finds Zayn looking at him with more softness than before, his eyes kind and his mouth spread into an almost fond smile, “Yeah.”  
  
-  
  
The sun dips under the horizon, the sky transitioning from shades of purple and pink into blackness, the moon full as it lights up the side of Zayn’s face while they’re walking home. Louis’ not entirely sure how long they’ve spent around town, how long they spent sitting at the skate park, just talking and breathing in the summer air—but it didn’t feel once like the conversation was dull or that Louis had to try extra hard to make it not awkward—it was casual, flowing, and now they’ve lost track of time.  
  
“Should we call it a night, then?” Louis says, approaching their houses.  
  
It’s strangely intimate, this moment, as though it were an end of a romantic date, walking each other home. And it may be that thought that makes Louis’ stomach feel like it’s filled with cotton candy and clouds, nerves suddenly hitting him.  
  
And Zayn sort of hesitates, like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know how, or doesn’t know what. So Louis throws him a life raft.  
  
“Or,” Louis says, “You could stay at mine?”  
  
“Yeah?” Zayn says, face lighting up, “That’d be cool.”  
  
So Louis and Zayn enter Louis’ house, the murmuring sounds of his parents talking in the next room, the peacefulness of all the little ones being in bed. It’s sort of an embarrassingly large contrast to Zayn’s home—a lot smaller with less exotic furniture and expensive lighting, but Zayn doesn’t comment at all, or frown at all. Actually, his face is still lit up, gazing around Louis’ house in wonderment.  
  
“It’s nothing special, of course,” Louis comments, feeling as though he needs to fill the silence, “But it’s homey, you know?”  
  
Louis leads him to the old stairs as Zayn nods, “It definitely feels lived in. Like… reminds me of my old house. This new one’s still, like, strange to me.”  
  
Louis looks at him as he reaches the top of the stairs, and goes to say something but decides against it, changing the topic.  
  
“When’s the rest of your family coming home, do you know?”  
  
He opens the door to his bedroom and Zayn follows, scoffing at the question.  
  
“Never.”  
  
Louis frowns immediately at that. “What? They’re never coming home?”  
  
Zayn blinks, “No, like, I meant we never know when dad comes back. He usually tells us a day earlier, if we’re lucky.”  
  
And Louis nods, tries to keep the mood light-hearted because even though Zayn doesn’t look too fazed, Louis can’t help but feel his heart break a little because, doesn’t he keep in contact with his father? Or his sisters?  
  
A whistle comes out of Zayn’s mouth and Louis draws his attention back to him. He’s looking at the pile of papers on Louis’ desk, something that Louis should probably get to very soon.  
  
“College applications?” Zayn says, letting his thumb flick through the pile.  
  
Louis nods, “Yeah, such a pain.”  
  
He collapses onto his bed, moving to take off his shoes.  
  
“Where are you thinking of going?”  
  
“Uh, well, there’s one in Newcastle that mum thinks would be good for me. So, there, probably.”  
  
There’s silence in the room for a second too long, and it makes Louis cast his eyes over to Zayn. He’s suddenly quiet, his eyes towards the floor.  
  
“England?”  
  
Louis swallows, nodding. He lets his shoes fall to the floor beside his bed. “That it is.”  
  
Zayn ponders over the applications for a moment, before his thumb drops off the papers and his eyes meet Louis’ again.  
  
“Better make the most of the summer then, shouldn’t we?”  
  
There’s energy in his voice that wasn’t there before. And there’s something off about him now, something different. Louis doesn’t say anything, though, feels like he’d be intruding or being a nosy little bastard. They’re hardly close enough at all to be delving into each other’s emotions, really.  
  
“Exactly!” Louis says, smiling and matching the same amount of excitement. He hops off his bed and takes a pillow from it, “But, for now, young Malik, sleep calls for me. I don’t know about you, but I’m utterly exhausted. You can take the bed because I’m the most lovely host ever.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Zayn asks him, brows furrowed.  
  
Louis nods, “Yeah, ‘course.”  
  
A warm smile forms on Zayn’s face and he watches as Louis goes to leave the room.  
  
“See you tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn says, still standing in the middle of Louis’ room.  
  
He looks so out of place here with his top-of-the-range clothing and immaculate appearance. The mess around his bedroom glares at him now, whereas before Louis wouldn’t even notice it.  
  
“We’ll plan something exciting, alright? Me and you.” Louis tells him, watching as the crinkles at the sides of Zayn’s eyes return.  
  
He nods. “Goodnight, Lou.” His eyes shift to the bed, “And thanks, man.”  
  
Louis chuckles softly, “No need for that.” He begins to shut the door, giving Zayn a final smile, “Night, Malik.”  
  
He sleeps on the couch that night, the house warm. He thinks about Zayn without surprise, and falls asleep with the question of his peculiarity in his mind.  
  
-  
  
Louis wakes in the morning, expecting Zayn to be there.  
  
“He’s already left, love.” His mother tells him once Louis goes back downstairs from checking his room, looking completely untouched, bed made.  
  
Louis frowns, “He did?”  
  
She nods once, “He asked me to tell you thank you and that he’ll text you to meet up later today. Such a charming boy, he is.”  
  
-  
  
Another week goes by and Louis can honestly say it’s been the most boring and uninteresting holidays he’s ever had. Zayn hasn’t sent him a text ever since he stayed over and it also seems to be the time of year where everyone goes away and nobody throws parties, apparently, and Louis just hadn’t gotten the memo.  
  
Though, at least the weather’s been oddly pleasant, shining every day like the summer sun’s supposed to. Louis tries to get out amongst it as often as possible, soaking it up as though it’s the only time he’ll experience heat.  
  
He’s gone without a shirt today, lying down on a deck chair in his backyard, with nothing but shorts and sunglasses on. His eyes are closed, seeing the kaleidoscope of floating colours falling like snowflakes, projected from the glare of the sun directly above him.  
  
So when a familiar voice is heard, calling his name, Louis has every right to jump like he does, almost falling off the chair.  
  
At least the laugh that follows is rewarding enough.  
  
“You alright?” Zayn says, leaning against the fence, grinning with amusement.  
  
Louis  _swore_ he had work today, he knows Zayn’s schedule now, he’s supposed to be out of his house.  
  
“Be a bit more courteous next time, will you?” Louis says, a joking flare in his voice. “I’m trying to relax here.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Zayn replies, “You’ve been doing it for about an hour now.”  
  
“Fuck, really?”  
  
Louis was only meant to lie for about ten minutes—God knows how burnt he’ll be.  
  
Also, has Zayn been watching him? For an hour?  
  
“I considered interrupting when I came home but you looked asleep,” Zayn tells him, answering his unspoken question.  
  
“Surprised I wasn’t, to be honest.” Louis says, swinging his legs on the side of the chair, standing up. He feels so bare, skin on show, Zayn’s eyes scanning him like they were the night of dinner. “How was work?” Louis asks, wanting to distract himself.  
  
He leans against the fence, too, their faces close enough that Louis can see the hair that’s now growing around Zayn’s jawline, the off-centre brown speck near his pupil. Louis thinks maybe he’s too close—but Zayn doesn’t edge away.  
  
He considers asking why he hasn’t contacted him since he told his mother he would. Then he considers that it’s probably a bit obsessive of him to, and convinces himself in his mind that Zayn’s phone went dead for the entire week. It’s believable.  
  
“Hey, are you still free every day?” Zayn asks him instead of answering Louis’ question, his body inching closer.  
  
Louis’ breath almost hitches in his throat. He shrugs, “Might have to check my schedule.”  
  
Their eyes lock and Louis watches as a small smile creeps on Zayn’s face. “Come over tonight.”  
  
The invitation is something Louis would’ve seen as innocent, playful, if he hadn’t heard it in that tone before, hadn’t witnessed what happens when certain boys ask him the same thing, what their intentions are.  
  
Maybe it’s the fact that they’re so close, or how Zayn’s eyes are intense and waiting, how there’s unsettled tension in the air that Louis’ unsure is felt by both of them.  
  
Or maybe it’s the fact that Louis’ half-naked and has been having dirty thoughts of Zayn ever since they locked eyes the first day he moved in next door.  
  
Either way, there must have been too much hesitation on Louis’ part, since Zayn starts to try and  _convince_ Louis.  
  
“Your family can come, too, if they want.” Zayn says, shifting a little away. “Like, mine’s having a little, like, party, I guess? My dad and sisters are coming down today, so.” He’s not looking at Louis anymore, instead at his hands where he’s fingering his ring, as though he’s suddenly nervous, “There’ll be alcohol, too.”  
  
“Alcohol? Really?” Louis asks, hiding his smile, looking off as though he’s contemplating it, “See, if it was only you to occupy me I would’ve said no, but now there’s  _alcohol_ involved—“  
  
Zayn lets out a small laugh and shoves at Louis playfully, “Shut up. You coming or not?”  
  
“Yeah, alright. What time?”  
  
-  
  
The summer rain falls lightly on top of the tin roof, making melodic, calming sounds that echo softly through the house. It’s still sunny, and the air is still hot but the rain makes the windows look foggy and the sky almost dark with clouds. Louis’ sure they’ll be a thunderstorm tonight.  
  
“Love this song, man.” Zayn tells him, nodding along to the sultry sounds of a rhythm and blues artist singing slowly through the speakers of Zayn’s impressive stereo. He takes another sip from his drink, pausing the rhythmic bop of his head to do so.  
  
It’s about an hour into the party, the first hour being the Malik’s catching up with each other, which didn’t really last too long, with Mr Malik and the three sisters being way too tired to talk, instead collapsing on couches and flicking on the T.V. Louis’ family, except his mum, went home about half an hour in, with Louis and Zayn already drinking and seeing how many drinks they can sneak passed their parents.  
  
So far they’re up to five beers. He’s drinking faster than Zayn—actually, he’s no idea what can he’s up to. Maybe he should slow down a little.  
  
“Hey,” Louis says, rolling out a soccer ball from underneath Zayn’s desk, “You never told me you play?”  
  
They decided to get away from the old music and the rest of the scene, would much rather be alone with each other. Louis thinks if this is what it’d be like if Zayn and Louis went to a school party together—if they’d seclude themselves from everyone else, alone in a room or a space in the backyard where it’s so black the only thing seen is silhouettes from the light of the party.  
  
He wonders what type of drunk Zayn is; emotional, loud, flirtatious, quiet, mischievous, horny, talkative…  
  
“I don’t.” Zayn says, laughing at the thought of it. And, right, Louis asked a question. “I like to think I’m good but all I can do is balance it on my knee, to be honest.”  
  
“Could teach you, if you wanted?” Louis says, already fiddling with the ball between his feet, “I’m quite good, if I do say so myself.”  
  
Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, “Always willing to teach me things, aren’t you?”  
  
Louis shrugs, “Could say I’m quite talented, then.”  
  
Zayn shifts his position on the couch, bringing his leg up so his foot is tucked under his thigh and he places his arm across the back of the couch, a perfect invitation for Louis to snuggle into.  
  
He’s wearing all black tonight; black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that dips a bit lower at the chest, exposing the dip of his collarbones and the tip of tattooed wings—unintentionally gorgeous, like the rest of him.  
  
“Seems like it,” Zayn replies, eyes studying Louis, carefully eyeing him up and down shamelessly, as though he’s trying to figure him out, always trying to figure him out, “Maybe I should teach you a thing or two,” He smiles slightly, almost to himself, “You look like you’d be a fast learner.”  
  
Louis instantly feels his cheeks warm up. He blames it on the alcohol. But he feels so exposed like this, standing up in front of Zayn, who’s sitting and staring at him like Louis’ the most interesting person he’s seen. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t love the attention, though.  
  
“Anything you think I could show you?” Zayn asks him, his fingers tracing the lines of the couch. He looks so relaxed, so comfortable in his own skin yet so in charge; dressed in rich clothing and surrounded by rich necessities. He also looks like he’s waiting for Louis to put on a show, sitting and watching like he paid for something good—but maybe that’s the liquor talking.  
  
“Oh, y’know,” Louis begins, waving his hand around, “Probably your bank account.”  
  
He hides his smile by taking another long sip from his beer, keeping his eyes locked with Zayn’s, his mouth agape as he looks playfully offended.  
  
“Asshole.”  
  
“Snob.”  
  
The first crack of thunder booms through the sky and Louis almost spills his drink at the shock of it. Zayn snorts in laughter and Louis glares at him.  
  
“God, hope it’s not this bad tomorrow at work.” Zayn says, looking out the window where the droplets of water have become thicker, louder as they hit the glass.  
  
“Why do you even work, anyway?” Louis asks him, sick of standing so he sits on the couch next to Zayn. He could’ve probably chosen to sit on the bed, or the desk chair, or the bean bag, but…  
  
“It’s cool to earn my own money,” He says, shrugging, “Think it also keeps me grounded, too, which is good.”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding along, “Otherwise you’d actually truly be a snob.”  
  
Zayn cracks a smile and shoves at Louis, making Louis let out a laugh.  
  
It’s when Louis’ laughter fades out, when he looks at Zayn again and he sees the fogginess of his eyes, the lax of his jaw, the gentle stare. Louis has to shift in his seat, swallowing deeply. It’s like just by sitting here, Louis finds that Zayn has a quality of masculine confidence that’s a thousand times more intoxicating than the mere attractiveness of any other boy he’s met. Zayn, with his utterly perfect good looks that leave Louis stunned, this kind of erotic charisma goes straight to his knees, it seems.  
  
Or, actually, in this case, to his dick.  
  
He knows he’s a horny drunk. He doesn’t think he’d hook up with as many guys as he has at parties if he wasn’t. And he’s out-rightly obvious whenever he _is_ drunk—he’s clingy, loves to touch, kiss and cuddle, and always, always, ends up in amongst everyone dancing somehow.  
  
He quickly adds up that it’s probably not a good idea to drink around someone who affects him so badly.  
  
“Got work tomorrow morning, have you?” Louis tries, his voice betraying him, coming out unsteady.  
  
Zayn blinks lazily at him, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly, somehow doing so with no connection to the question. “Yeah.”  
  
Louis’ suddenly all too aware of Zayn’s arm placed behind him and of the situation currently arising in his pants. He shifts again, pulling at his jeans as subtly as he can manage. Zayn’s eyes don’t leave Louis’ face so hopefully he hasn’t noticed.  
  
“Good idea to be drinking, then?”  
  
Zayn shrugs again, and intentionally or not, shifts a little closer, “Few beers can’t hurt.”  
  
“Yeah,” Louis replies, almost immediately, a nervous laugh escaping his mouth, “S’pose not.”  
  
Zayn takes another sip from his beer, his cheeks hollowing out softly, his lips pressed against the lip of the bottle. Louis shifts again, directs his eyes to the window instead.  
  
Droplets fall down it, making patterns on the glass. The rain is hardly heard over the music in Zayn’s room, but the sky is slowly falling into darkness, the majority of it filled with clouds. Outside is lavender skies and heat despite the rain. Inside is Zayn and close warmth despite the cooling.  
  
Louis feels restricted, almost, and as a distraction he drinks the rest of his the substance in his bottle. The last part, he feels, affects him the hardest, cringing a little at the bitterness that lingers on his mouth. When he opens his squeezed eyes, he looks at the corner of them and finds Zayn’s eyes on him.  
  
This has become a habit, then.  
  
“You like what you see?” Louis asks him, finishing his sentence before plucking up the courage to meet his eyes.  
  
Zayn’s grinning at him; his nose crinkling a little as he does so, “Could say that.”  
  
And he talks again before Louis can possibly let those words settle in his mind. “You’re done?”  
  
He’s gesturing towards the empty bottle in Louis’ hand, his fingers out and ready to take it. Louis nods, surprising himself at how hard it suddenly is to form any words.  
  
Zayn takes the bottle, fingers brushing against Louis’, and stands up from the couch, throwing the bottles into the bin beside his desk.  
  
“Not much of a footballer, but you got skills on the basketball court, I see.” Louis says, moving his body again to get into a more comfortable, compromising position.  
  
Zayn throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head at Louis’ statement, looking at him with a sort of fondness Louis’ never experienced before.  
  
“Joker, are you?” He challenges, cocking a brow, his stance almost towering over Louis.  
  
Louis looks up at him and visibly gulps—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling even more turned on by the assertiveness Zayn’s showing him right now. Or maybe it’s the alcohol again; making himself seem like everything and anyone is attractive and sexual. If he gets any harder, he’s sure the denim will cut him, why the  _fuck_ did he choose his tightest pair of jeans?  
  
“Always,” Louis tells him, realising he has to say something soon before it gets awkward.  
  
Zayn hums in his throat, tilting his head to the side a little, “Aggressive, too, I bet.”  
  
“ _Aggressive_ ,” Louis says, almost surprised, his brows flying up as he pretends to think about it, “Sounds a bit like me, to be honest.”  
  
In response, Louis earns a smirk, “Looks like I’ve met my match, then.”  
  
Louis lets out a breathy laugh, dropping his gaze, “Looks like you have.”  
  
“Do you wanna swim?”  
  
This makes Louis look at him again, letting a frown cross his face, “Swim? Like,  _now_ ?”  
  
“Yeah, why not?” Zayn says, shrugging, “We’ll sneak more beer and, like, skinny dip. It’s still hot outside.”  
  
“We’re also in the middle of a storm.” Louis chances, flicking his gaze towards the window again.  
  
Zayn eyes him down for his lack of excitement about his idea. Louis quickly learns that Zayn is most definitely an adventurous, split-second-decision-making drunk.  
  
Louis stares back at him without a word until Zayn sighs heavily and drops his gaze, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
“And here I was, thinking I met someone who’d be as equal as me, who’d be  _fun_ and  _interesting_ , someone who wouldn’t be such a granny, someone who’d—“  
  
“Fuck, Jesus, alright, I’ll go swimming with you.”  
  
And Zayn beams at him, tossing him a wink before grabbing Louis’ wrist and dragging him out of the room.  
  
-  
  
Outside is definitely hot, a sort of muggy that sticks to his skin. The rain has lightened up, nothing but soft drips of water that fall on him unnoticeably. They’ve managed to get a drink each—not beer, though, as there was only two more left and Zayn’s dad would’ve definitely noticed—instead they’ve managed to mix together vodka and soda, a drink of choice for Louis, usually.  
  
“Really isn’t a good idea to mix drinks, you know.” Zayn says, investigating the drink as he swirls it around in his cup.  
  
Louis hums, “Who’s the granny now, huh?”  
  
Zayn’s eyes flicker to Louis’, and then he chugs the alcohol down in one go, as if trying to prove a point. Louis raises his brows at him, lets out a whistle. Zayn wipes his mouth afterwards, tossing Louis a wink, and then sets his cup down on the pavement. Louis thinks Zayn’s preparing to dive into the pool then and there, until he starts unbuckling his jeans.  
  
“Wha—what are you doing?” Louis asks hesitantly, hating himself for how hard it is for him to tear his eyes away.  
  
“D’you even know what skinny dipping is?” Zayn replies, casually and cool, everything Louis _was_ .  
  
He shrugs in return, realising that Zayn actually did say they should skinny dip. “Never tried it, myself.”  
  
Zayn drops his pants to his ankles, exposing his evenly olive skin, his thigh tattoo, his Calvin Klein underwear. Louis swallows deeply, his grip around his glass tightening. He watches as Zayn kicks his jeans to the side, then as he takes off his socks, and especially looks when Zayn tears off his shirt.  
  
Louis subconsciously bites his lip, admiring the definition of Zayn’s torso, the tattoos scattered everywhere in such a close view, the way his bicep pulses as he runs his fingers through his hair.  
  
“Wanna take a picture?” He says with a laugh, startling Louis’ gaze.  
  
But before Louis even has a chance to defend himself or say anything, Zayn’s already pulling down his underwear in one swift movement and jumping into the pool, water splashing out far enough to hit Louis. He steps back a bit, taking a large sip of the alcohol in his hand.  
  
Zayn arises a few seconds later, hair and body drenched, his eyelashes clumping together, the glow of the moonlight being the only thing illuminating him, and Louis should probably learn to not stare. Honestly, his mother brought him up better than this.  
  
“Gettin’ in or what?” Zayn asks him, floating on his back a bit, a smile on his lips.  
  
There’s something nagging in the back of his mind, telling him it’s a bad idea, he’s already gotten too close. He can’t imagine how things will be if he fucks it up—he doesn’t want to lose Zayn as a friend, but he doesn’t want to only  _be_ friends.  
  
It’s a complicated decision that Louis will eventually have to put to bed, preferably before school starts up again; he doesn’t know how he’ll cope with everyone desiring over Zayn and with Zayn picking someone else over him.  
  
It’ll probably happen anyway, but the knowledge that Zayn _knows_ is better than him being blinded by what’s literally right there.  
  
“Are you chickening out on me, Tomlinson? What’s happening out there?”  
  
“Yeah, I—“ Louis cuts himself short, bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “Give me a sec.”  
  
He downs the rest of his drink, a hideous feeling at the end of it that almost makes him gag. He’s aware of the set of eyes on him as he starts to undress himself, but the attention is sort of familiar, being that it doesn’t make him sweat and splutter like it used to.  
  
Louis doesn’t make a show of it, but he definitely unbuttons his jeans a little slower, definitely makes a point of having to squeeze out of them, letting his tight-fitting boxers sit a little lower on his hips. He crosses his arms over to lift up the bottom of his shirt, stretching up so he knows his body is showing the way he wants it too.  
  
And, of course, he’s totally forgotten about the bulge that’s been fattening up since he was in Zayn’s room.  
  
When he looks at Zayn, he sees his eyes zeroing in on it, jaw slightly slack.  
  
“Should give you a camera, too, then.”  
  
Zayn blinks, dropping his eyes, a slight flush entering his cheeks from being caught in the act. Louis smirks at him and Zayn dips below the water.  
  
Given the opportunity of no longer being watched, Louis strips from his underwear and kicks them off to the side, cupping himself and he walks over to the pool.  
  
Instead of jumping in like Zayn had done, Louis takes the steps, gliding into the massive pool with ease. The water glistens under the night sky and Louis’ head is a clouded mess, his body warmer than it should be from the alcohol swimming throughout it.  
  
He has an overwhelming desire just to move up to Zayn and kiss him, but something holds him back. His sanity, Louis supposes.  
  
“I don’t usually swim.” Zayn tells him after a beat of silence, his eyes entranced on the ripples he’s making in the water with his hands.  
  
Louis frowns at him, “Why not?”  
  
“Never learnt how to, to be honest.” Zayn laughs a bit, his teeth not quite showing. “That’s a lie. I’m actually—I’m pretty scared of it?”  
  
Louis studies him for a moment or two, “And how’s it going for you right now?”  
He looks around the pool, weighing up the pro’s and con’s, “It’s alright. Isn’t like it counts, though, I’m standing at the shallow end.”  
  
“It does count.” Louis tells him, making Zayn look up from the water, “Also, why did you  _jump_ in here if you’re scared?”  
  
“Dunno, actually,” Zayn replies, frowning at himself, “Alcohol, maybe? Or maybe I wanted to be tough for a moment there.”  
  
Louis snorts, “Fearless.”  
  
Zayn grins at him in response, his smile bright.  
  
It’s sort of like a metaphor, Louis thinks. To jump right into something is both exciting and terrifying, nerve-wracking and relieving. It’s taking a risk without foreseeing the outcome, and it’s stupid yet rewarding at the same time.  
  
It’s jumping straight into water despite the fear of it.  
  
“I’ve actually—this will sound pathetic, but I’ve actually wanted to get into this pool for so long.”  
  
Zayn lets out a laugh, “Really? Glad I could make it happen for you, then.”  
  
“Another thing to cross of the list of things to do before I move to England, isn’t it?”  
  
His eyes are on the water, now, entranced as his fuzzy eyes catch up with the motions his hands make in the water. A minute later, he notices Zayn’s silence.  
  
Louis looks at him, seeing something misplaced in Zayn’s eyes, something similar to what he looked like in Louis’ room a few nights ago.  
  
“Alright?” He asks him, watching as Zayn’s head picks up.  
  
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” He forges a smile. Louis waits.  
  
And then he sees Zayn’s eyebrows furrow as he thinks, and he shakes his head. “When… When are you leaving?”  
  
“Well,  _if_ I get in I’ll be leaving a few months after I graduate. You know, to set up my dorm and that. Want to do a bit of sightseeing and stuff before I go to my first class.”  
  
Zayn nods slowly, his eyes downcast.  
  
But as fast as it comes, it goes. He looks to Louis again, this time with something like determination in his eyes, and moves a little closer.  
  
Louis’ breath dispels for a moment as Zayn closes in on his space, backing him up against the edge of the pool.  
  
“What—?”  
  
“I wanna do this before it’s too late, like…” Zayn says, trailing off a bit, his hands coming up either side of Louis’ shoulders, almost barricading Louis.  
  
“I won’t mind.” Louis swallows, a shaky breath leaving him, “Like, at all.”  
  
Zayn’s eyes glance up from where they were trailing down Louis’ neck. He brightens, “Yeah?  
  
“Yeah,” Louis hums, “Actually didn’t think you felt the same, if I’m honest.”  
  
“Bullshit,” Zayn tells him immediately, giving him a kinked smile, “Been wanting this since I first saw you, I reckon.”  
  
Louis exhales, his eyes retaining the features in front of him—hard edges yet soft all over, wet eyelashes and pouty lips, matted hair that blends into the darkness surrounding them—he holds his eyes, too, until Zayn presses a searching kiss onto Louis’ lips.  
  
It’s light, tentative, and when Zayn pulls back again he’s looking with question, uncertainty, waiting for a voice of consent or for Louis to react, to do something. Because he’s almost sure he’s a stilled soul at the moment, lost in the sight in front of him, overwhelmed by the touching of their skin and the intimacy of the moment.  
  
“You good?” Zayn asks him, his thumb running over Louis’ hipbone softly.  
  
Louis thinks back to the first time they spoke, the voice in his head telling him it was a bad idea to take the cigarette with Zayn’s number on it. He feels it again, but there’s something about Zayn, something about the liquor on his lips that makes Louis unable to resist him.  
  
And Louis trusts him.  
  
“Great.”  
  
They kiss again, the feeling of Zayn’s mouth on his own is warm, electrifying. They get a feel of each other, both going slow and it’s the sort of intimacy Louis’ never gotten the chance to feel before—all his kisses being rushed and sloppy, only eager to get their pants down, dick sucked. But with Zayn it’s like they’ve got all the time in the world.  
  
He takes Zayn’s bottom lip into his mouth experimentally and it earns a low moan from the back of Zayn’s throat, hitching Louis up from the waist until Louis wraps his legs around Zayn’s hips—moving closer, closer, until he can feel Zayn’s excitement pressing into his thigh.  
  
Louis opens his mouth and Zayn licks into it eagerly, pulling Louis in closer to him just to feel more, more, more. He bucks his hip up and Louis goes dizzy with the movement.  
  
Zayn kisses him desperately, Louis’ cock being pressed against Zayn’s thigh, so,  _so_ impatient. He tightens his grip into Zayn’s hair and Zayn lets out a soft moan. He leaves Louis’ mouth to kiss down Louis’ jaw, his neck, until he finds a sweet spot that makes Louis roll his head back with a startled breath.  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” He curses, the word coming out no louder than a whisper as he grinds his hips up, his dick gaining fiction from rubbing up against Zayn’s wet body.  
  
Zayn sucks and bites and licks until Louis’ fingers release and clench at Zayn’s hair, his hips moving rhythmically now, desperate to be touched the right way.  
  
With the water flowing calmly throughout them, they have to hold on tighter, closer, just to feel as much as each other as possible. If either of them weren’t so eager, they’d put it on hold until they were in Zayn’s bedroom. But neither of them want to stop.  
  
The lips on his neck pull off but it’s not long until they find themselves attached to his mouth again. They kiss faster this time, pushing at each other more, with movements and gasping moans of each other’s names.  
  
And when Zayn’s hand palms Louis dick, Louis tears off of Zayn’s mouth to let out a broken noise, his hand then slipping over the wet skin to wrap around his cock.  
  
And then he’s grinding into Zayn’s hand, trying to find as much friction as one can amidst water; his breathing speeding up, his eyes glazing over.  
  
“You’re a loud one,” Zayn says, watching as Louis throws his head back with a groan to further prove his observation. “Bet you’re not afraid of anyone in this street hearing you, hm?”  
  
He strokes the tip of Louis’ cock with his thumb, then strokes downward, slowly, teasing.  
  
“Bet you’d love the spotlight on you, everyone watching as you come undone because of me.” Zayn murmurs, his voice sounding like a low hum, something that creates goosebumps on Louis’ skin despite the heat flowing through his veins. “I’ve dreamt about how you’d orgasm, you know. Whether you’d be loud or whether you’d be a soft, whimpering mess. And by the looks of you now, I’m thinking it’s both.”  
  
He speeds up, and flicks his wrist the right way, making Louis curse out loud, possibly  _too_ loud, but the noise just makes Zayn do it again, and again. And if he continues, Louis will come any second, just from this, just from wanting it for hours, days, weeks.  
  
“Zayn, please,” Louis tells him, almost panting, his voice unrecognisable in his own ears.  
  
Zayn hums softly, “Mm? What do you want, Louis, tell me.”  
  
“I want,  _fuck_ —”  
  
He breaks off into a broken, choking mess when Zayn’s fingers find his nipple, squeezing softly. The stimulation is almost too much, too fast.  
  
“Huh?” Zayn urges, tightening his grip on Louis’ dick as he moves down Louis’ chest, his teeth pressing softly on his nipple. He sucks, bites, licks, until Louis’ fingernails claw at his back in  _need_ . “Tell me.” Zayn murmurs against his chest, pressing a soft kiss at Louis’ over-stimulated nipple.  
  
“You. I— _shit_ , Zayn, just fuck me.”  
  
He notices Zayn’s hand slowing for a second or two before returning back to his normal pace, “Yeah? You’d like that?”  
  
“ _Yeah_ ,” Louis tells him, his voice fading out into a soft moan. He forces his eyes open, watches as Zayn’s wide eyes watch him, then takes him into a kiss, drawing back with Zayn’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Wanna feel your cock, babe.”  
  
It’s like he’s running on something other than energy, like a sort of high that devours every other sense or feeling except the way they feel together. If his mind was pure fog before, now it’s a thick cloud of smoke with Zayn being the only coherent, visible thought.  
  
“ _Jesus_ , I bet you do,” Zayn says, voice low like a growl, a gravelly sort of tone that makes Louis shudder, “Bet you like the feeling of being fucked, yeah? Taking it in that perky ass of yours.”  
  
Louis nods, his hips frantically thrusting into Zayn’s hand, his dick leaking at the top, begging for it. Zayn pushes his own hips up and Louis feels his dick immediately, brushing up against his own. They both moan in unison, the sounds of it filling the empty air, exposing them.  
  
It’s so fucking dirty and hot and Louis doesn’t think he can hold up much longer.  
  
They kiss again and it’s sloppy but passionate, with them both tugging hair, moving up against one another, breathy sounds mingling into one. Zayn’s stubble brushes against Louis’ cheeks and the roughness of it adds to the overwhelming sensations he feels, growing closer and closer towards his inevitable orgasm.  
  
The fluidness of the water makes it easier for them to slide together, for Louis to hold himself up around Zayn, moving together like waves of an ocean, yet never crashing.  
  
“I need more,” Louis says, words that would be inarticulate to anyone else’s ears.  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, the hand on the flesh of Louis’ arse squeezes once, and then he lets his fingers slide until he reaches Louis’ balls, moving upwards to where his crack ends in one soft stroke. He repeats the motion once or twice until Louis feels himself exploding.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” Louis groans harshly, shivering at the touch. Zayn’s fingers are longer than his own, thicker, and if they don’t fuck into him soon he’ll lose his mind, “Zayn, fucking—“  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn says again, swallowing. And when Louis picks his head up from where it’s rested on Zayn’s shoulder to look him in the eye, he realises Zayn’s _nervous_ .  
  
“Have you done this before?”  
  
Zayn’s eyes are hooded, pupils enlarged, lips fatter and redder than before. He shakes his head, “Only seen it in, like, porn.”  
  
They’re still rutting up against each other, Zayn’s fingers still nearing so close to Louis’ hole. He’s being an unknowing tease—something Louis’ known him to be ever since they met.  
  
“You’ll be good,” Louis says, giving Zayn another kiss, his dick throbbing impatiently, “But for the love of god please do it soon.”  
  
Zayn smiles against Louis’ lips and gets to work, slipping in one of his fingers, the motion easy with the water yet so rough at the same time. Louis grips onto Zayn, chests flush together, as Zayn moves into him, pressing in to the knuckle. He goes back and forth for a bit, and then he kisses up Louis’ neck.  
  
“Feelin’ good?”  
  
Louis hums, moving lazily now, a rhythm being created, moving forwards to gain attention to his dick then moving backwards onto Zayn’s finger.  
  
“More, babe.”  
  
Zayn obeys and slips out his finger before immediately following with two, stretching Louis open that little bit more. It burns slightly, with the water not acting like lube, but it still sends a rush to the heated pit of his stomach, knowing his peak isn’t far.  
  
When Zayn starts scissoring his fingers, Louis cries out, his movements picking up the pace.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Louis almost  _screams_ , his eyes fluttering closed, revelling in the sensations, “Zayn, curl them slight— _fuck_ ! Yeah, like that…oh,  _god_ .”  
  
Louis continues whining nonsense, not stopping his sounds once with the way Zayn’s curling his fingers to hit Louis’ prostate every time as though it was with practiced ease. He can feel himself getting close, and he wraps a hand around his cock, thrusting up into it.  
  
“You’re so hot like this, babe.” Zayn whispers to him, mouth close to his ear, breath hot and heavy, “Look at you. Could fucking come just by watching you get off.”  
  
“Zayn,” Louis pants helplessly, gasping when he stutters his movements and the tip of his cock brushes against Zayn’s hip.  
  
“So fucking hot,” He says, pressing a kiss behind Louis’ ear and letting his fingertips stroke lightly down his arm before dropping his voice to a low whisper. “Come for me.”  
  
And Louis does, a few strokes later and he’s coming. His eyes squeeze shut and he goes lax in Zayn’s grip, a high-pitched moan—something like a scream, rips out of him as he throws his head back, Zayn’s fingers coaxing him through it, making his vision turn white.  
  
When he comes down from it, he feels Zayn slip out of him. When he opens his eyes again, he sees Zayn already holding his gaze.  
  
“Shit.” He breathes, somewhat stunned. He’s got a hand on himself, pumping fast, his breathing quickening and hitching.  
  
“Are you close?” Louis manages to ask, head still in a daze.  
  
Zayn nods twice and Louis untangles his legs from around Zayn’s waist. He presses a wet kiss to Zayn’s mouth, then swims so he’s away from the pool’s edge.  
  
“Lean back,” Louis says, and Zayn follows, turning around so he’s in the same position Louis was.  
  
And then Louis holds his breath and dips underwater.  
  
He knocks Zayn’s hands away immediately once he can see clearly and grips his own hand to Zayn’s hip, the other around Zayn’s cock. Then he presses his lips to the tip of it, to the sides, before kissing up the length of it—teasing, slow. He feels Zayn’s fingers in his hair, gripping it when Louis wraps his mouth around him, licking and sucking.  
  
It only lasts a few seconds until Zayn’s coming, a low, muffled groan being heard from the surface. And Louis sucks him off until he’s dry, swallowing his come along with the water that’s filled his mouth.  
  
When he reaches the surface, Zayn looks spent. His mouth parted slightly, both arms resting on the pool’s edge, sweat or water or both trickling down his forehead, his eyes closed, his chest drifting up and down.  
  
Louis’ only seen this in his dreams, and the knowledge that this is real life sort of stuns him a bit, still exhilarated from his orgasm.  
  
He moves closer to Zayn and fits into the space next to him, his head leaning on Zayn’s shoulder, his arm wrapping around his waist.  
  
Zayn drops his arm to hold him, his body warm and comforting, a place Louis never wants to move from. The night starts to turn cold, the moon sitting in the middle of the sky and Louis wonders how late it is, how long they’ve spent out here.  
  
They’re both quiet for a few moments, not needing words to fill the silence.  
  
A gust of wind sends a chill through Louis’ body, but it’s refreshing in a way that it breaks the humidity, the stickiness of the heated atmosphere.  
  
And then they hear it, the crack of thunder in the dead of the night, hard-hitting rain following a second after. The storm’s returned.  
  
“Probably should get out, shouldn’t we?” Louis says, making no move to get out, though. The heat next to him warm enough to sleep against even through a thunderstorm.  
  
But Zayn hums in agreement, “Should get into bed, actually, got work in the morning.”  
  
Louis feels his face drop, slightly. He says it dismissively, like he wants to get out, wants to leave Louis’ side. He’s about to wallow in his self-pity, when:  
  
"Come with me." Zayn says, his fingers brushing softly against Louis' skin, sending thrills down his spine as he does so.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
"Like, stay the night with me." Zayn invites, voice smooth and sincere, Louis smiles at the sound. "Have to sneak you in, of course. Parents won't allow anyone in the same bed as me, sadly."  
  
Louis nods, understanding. He tries to hide the excitement in his voice. "Yeah, alright. That'd be nice."  
  
Zayn smiles at him and Louis smiles back, their eyes connecting not long before their lips do, pressing softly and sweetly, enough to send fireworks off in Louis' chest.  
  
He's truly in his element, right now. He doesn't know whether it's the alcohol wearing off, or the high from literally having sex in a pool where someone could've easily walked out and seen them, or if it's purely Zayn—perfect, sweet Zayn, who's making Louis feel like this all isn't real, like he hasn't met the boy next door and hasn't already shagged him with such love he could burst.  
  
He wishes he was exaggerating, he really, really does.  
  
"You know how to be quiet, now, Tomlinson?" Zayn asks him when they pull apart, his hand reaching down to pinch Louis' bum cheekily, winking as he does so.  
  
Louis' cheeks turn pink, pushing away, the water around him splashing his chest, rain falling on his hair. "Not if you keep doing that, Malik."  
  
Zayn laughs loudly, grin splitting his face. It's a sight to see, his perfectly whitened teeth standing out in the dimness of the night, his eyelashes clumping, raindrops falling off them as he blinks. He’s like a dream and Louis has to turn away before he wills himself to say something stupid.  
  
They get out of the pool and dry each other off, Zayn sneaking in a few whips to Louis' bum, both trying to suppress their giggles. It's light-hearted and almost magical in a sense, and Louis' never felt so filled with something so buoyant, like he could fly.  
  
It's not until they're at least a bit dry, towels draped around their waists, when Zayn shushes him with a kiss and urges him into the house, telling him to run up the stairs and wait there without being seen.  
  
Louis nods before saluting him, trying to be as serious as he can manage. Zayn rolls his eyes and slaps Louis' hand away, shoving him through the double doors that lead inside.  
  
"Wish me luck, commander." Louis whispers, leaning his head back onto Zayn's shoulder. He feels drunk despite being sober—it's a nice feeling.  
  
"Oh my god," Zayn says through a small laugh, "Go!"  
  
Louis covers his hand with his mouth to hide his laugh that's threatening to spill, and then goes for it. The stairs are directly to the left of him, but Zayn's parents are watching television, having a quiet, in-depth conversation, seems like, so Louis flies up the stairs easily without drawing attention.  
  
Not a second later, Zayn appears inside, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s on the first step when his parents turn from the couch.  
  
“Zayn, love?” His mother says, and Zayn quickly glances up at Louis, who’s hidden from view, and then turns to meet them both.  
  
“I’m just about to go to bed.”  
  
“Has Louis already gone home?” She asks him, “I didn’t see him leave.”  
  
“Uh,” Zayn clears his throat and Louis tries not to laugh, “Yeah, we went for a swim then it started to rain so he went back home to dry off.”  
  
“Oh, alright. Well, goodnight, darling.” She smiles at him and Zayn smiles back.  
  
“Night, mum.”  
  
“Remember to be up early for work, Zayn.” His father calls to him, a lot more sterner than his mother had been. Louis frowns at it.  
  
But Zayn takes it in his stride and gives his father a curt nod. He waits until both his parents tune back to the television before walking up the stairs again.  
  
When Zayn does reach the top step, Louis takes to tickling him and Zayn can't fight the grin that appears, rolling his eyes.  
  
He guides Louis backwards into his room by pressing his hand to Louis' chest. "Go hide, you wanker."  
  
"You want me to wank you off? Is that what I heard?" Louis says, putting his hand up to his ear.  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Zayn whispers, still grinning as he shuts the door behind them. "You're the worst."  
  
"Hey, I got up here without any disturbances, didn't I? Unlike _someone_ ." Louis tells him, already making his way to Zayn's bed as Zayn snorts. "So, am I sleeping naked or will you lend me some of your, presumably,  _Versace_ pyjamas?"  
  
He sits cross-legged on Zayn's mattress, towel sitting low on his waist, looking at Zayn as Zayn looks at him.  
  
"They're not  _Versace_ ." Zayn points out, opening up one of his drawers, taking out a matching pair of pyjamas. "They're  _Louis Vuitton_ ."  
  
Louis gawks as Zayn throws the clothing to his lap, the silkiness of them brushing up against his bare skin, feeling like heaven.  
  
"You  _actually_ have designer bed wear. You wear these. To bed."  
  
"That I do." Zayn replies, dropping his own towel as he fetches out another pair of pyjamas.  
  
Louis admires the view.  
  
When they're both dressed (Louis in Louis Vuitton, fittingly, and Zayn in Dolce&Gabbana) they crawl into Zayn's equally silky soft sheets with ease, fitting together almost automatically. Louis' pressed up against Zayn's side, Zayn's fingers coasting slowly through Louis' hair.  
  
It's so unbelievably relaxing and dream-like that Louis feels the overwhelming need to pinch himself.  
  
Outside, the storm has picked up again. And for a moment the only sound they hear is the rain hitting the roof, surrounding them with pitter-patters and a warm sense of security.  
  
Louis blinks against Zayn's shoulder, Zayn's chest rises and falls with every soft breath.  
  
It's sort of fucking perfect and Louis never wants to leave.  
  
"Could stay here forever." Louis mutters, his fingers trailing underneath Zayn's shirt, feeling the way his skin turns to Braille underneath his fingertips. "This bed feels like a cloud."  
  
Zayn lets out a soft laugh, "I feel that, too," he says, his fingers stopping their movements in Louis' hair only for his hand to drop around Louis' shoulders, "Don't think it has anything to do with the bed, though."  
  
And it warms Louis up more than it should, and he can't even form a simple reply. So instead he tilts his head up a tiny bit, presses a kiss to Zayn's lips, and cuddles him a little more.  
  
Louis' sure he'll remember this; the summer rain, the designer pyjamas, the silky sheets, the feeling in his chest, _Zayn_ .  
  
He's absolutely exhausted but this is enough for Louis not to want to fall asleep—since, for once, his reality is better than any dream.  
  
-  
  
When he awakes in the morning, the space beside him is empty and cold. He opens his eyes and quickly notices that Zayn's already gone.  
  
Louis frowns. He knows Zayn had to get up early for work, but he could've woken Louis up, too. He'd rather be grumpy and woken up to Zayn's face than to feel refreshed and wake up with nobody beside him.  
  
Though, he's still buzzing from the night before. His headache is minor and his mouth tastes horrible, but his mind and his entire  _being_ have never felt better.  
  
He stretches with a smile, revelling in the bed that feels like paradise, and fills his thoughts with Zayn's smile, Zayn's eyes, Zayn's touches, Zayn's  _everything_ —  
  
The bedroom door suddenly swings open, Zayn entering the room before slamming it closed again. His hands clench at his hair, and he starts to pace.  
  
The sound alone makes Louis sits up abruptly, eyes wide.  
  
His heart's pounding from the shock, but it quickly drops when he takes in the sight before him.  
  
He's never seen Zayn like this before. Zayn—with his usual laid-back character, his usual hooded eyes and casual smirk, his bright energy, his soft and carefree demeanour—has now totally disappeared and replaced by creased eyebrows, distressed expressions, and hard hands digging into his hair like he wants to rip it out.  
  
Louis' about to speak up, about to ask what on earth's happened, about to stand and comfort him as best he can but doesn't get the chance to.  
  
Zayn’s eyes catch sight of Louis and his face darkens immediately, squinting at him like he's filled with  _hatred_ .  
  
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" He growls.  
  
His eyes are fiery, wild. His mouth’s stiff, hardly moving when he talks.  
  
Louis frowns, curling in on himself, "Are you—?"  
  
"Get out." Zayn demands, his entire body stilled, his words snapping through gritted teeth.  
  
Louis feels his stomach plummet, his eyes beginning to water.  
  
"Zayn, what—?"  
  
"Are you deaf?" Zayn retorts, eyebrows furrowed so deeply, so inconceivably angry.  
  
" _Zayn_ —"  
  
"Louis, fuck's sake." Zayn sighs, frustrated. He looks away from him, and for a moment Louis spots something else flicker on his face, something too quick to catch. "Leave."  
  
And despite Louis' completely dumbfounded expression and his own anger boiling in his chest, he starts to move out of Zayn's bed.  
  
He ignores the way he wants to break down at the way Zayn said his name, as though he had to spit it out like venom.  
  
He also ignores the way his throat is suddenly choked up, emotions threatening to escape.  
  
Louis has to leave, that much is obvious.  
  
And he tries, stepping towards the door, planning to not say another word. But Zayn's hand flies up immediately to stop him, eyes still not meeting Louis'.  
  
"Leave through the window." Zayn orders, like Louis' nothing more than a mere servant. He blinks, and then turns his head away. "You're not supposed to even  _be_ here, remember?"  
  
And Louis scoffs, blinking in disbelief. "Are you fucking serious?"  
  
But Zayn doesn't reply. He doesn't even flinch at Louis' words, as though he's suddenly not acknowledging Louis at all.  
  
Louis swallows, hoping the lump in his throat would disappear. It doesn’t.  
  
"We're just gonna leave it like this, then, are we?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Un- _fucking_ -believable." Louis says under his breath. He takes a step backwards, then says, "You know, if you only wanted a shitty one night stand then you could've told me that instead of making me think it was something else, asshole."  
  
Zayn does flinch at that. His face drops, shoulders slumping. Good.  
  
"Just leave, Louis."  
  
This time it's softer, weaker. He says it but this time he leaves the room, entering his en suite. And Louis' left alone, standing in the middle of Zayn's bedroom, feeling absolutely  _disgusting_ for even still being here.  
  
So, without another word, he lets out a huge sigh, turns around, and cracks open Zayn's window.  
  
-  
  
For the next week, Louis occupies himself with study.  
  
He’d never thought it’d happen. Hell, he was putting it off for a reason. But he needs to stimulate his brain, he learns, otherwise he’s forced to think and dwell and hate himself for it.  
  
He even finished his college applications. It might have something to do with the fact that he can’t wait to leave this shitty town and finally live in a big city with so many people.  
  
The day he left Zayn’s room, Louis had to jump from Zayn’s roof to his own. It wasn’t a long jump, but his legs had felt weak, his entire body feeling like it didn’t belong to him somehow, like he could’ve just lied on the tiles contently and stayed there, feeling worthless enough.  
  
He spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. He cried in the shower, then cried again for being so pathetic. He stared at his phone that night, hovering over Zayn’s contact, and even though he burnt with such  _hate_ , he couldn’t bring himself to delete it.  
  
On the third day, his mother had asked about Zayn around the dinner table.  
  
“You haven’t met with him for a while, is everything okay?”  
  
“It’s been three days.” Louis had replied, not meeting anyone’s eye. The conversation shifted after that, which Louis had been grateful for.  
  
It’s been six days now. Louis hasn’t seen Zayn at all and he couldn’t care. Even though he was everything Louis ever wanted, even if Zayn made him the happiest and most carefree he’d ever been. He doesn’t care.  
  
-  
  
At 3AM, Louis’ phone buzzes obnoxiously next to his ear.  
  
When he glances at his phone through a squinted glare, he almost throws it across the other side of the room.  
  
**Zayn Malik 3:01AM**  
Come outside  
  
Louis rubs at his eyes, blinking at the text about a million times before it even makes sense in his brain.  
  
It's three in the morning and Zayn has the decency to not only call him six times, apparently, but also texts him to get out of bed to go outside without any explanation whatsoever? Even after the way he had told him to leave his house? Through the fucking  _window_ ?  
  
Is this boy even real?  
  
But before Louis can even think to reply, his phone lights up again, with Zayn on his screen, calling.  
  
Louis contemplates picking up. He weighs up the alluring option of turning his phone off and getting some precious sleep, denying Zayn any chance to crawl back into his life again. Though, Louis knows he didn’t delete his contact for a reason and he quickly results that he won't be able to fall back to sleep any time soon, and if Zayn's this desperate to reach him then it  _must_ be serious.  
  
He answers. "What?"  
  
"Don't sound so pleased to hear from me, Tomlinson, take it down a notch."  
  
Louis ignores the flutter in his stomach at the sound of his voice. "It's three in the morning, make this quick."  
  
"Yeah... I know, I— Come outside? Please?"  
  
There's something different about Zayn, something... off. He sounds broken, sad, almost. But right before Louis feels any sympathy for him he remembers the reason why they haven’t spoken for six days.  
  
He tosses up the reasons for the call, what on earth Zayn would want. Then something clicks in his mind, his body boiling with irritation.  
  
"Is this a fucking booty call?"  
  
"What? No!" Zayn shouts immediately into the receiver and Louis has to bring the phone away from his ear. He hears Zayn breathe out something in disbelief but Louis doesn't catch it. "Louis, please, I just, like... I need to talk to you. I'm out the front."  
  
"Well, we're talking right now, aren't we?"  
  
" _Louis,"_ Zayn pleads _,_ voice cracking, "I’m sorry, I am. I just, like… Please, Lou. I need you."  
  
Louis ignores the lump growing in his throat. "Should've thought of that before you kicked me out, hey?"  
  
There's a pregnant pause, then a sigh.  
  
"I'm at your door, okay? Come out or not, whatever, but I'll be here waiting."  
  
What the fuck?  
  
"Hope you brought a mattress, then. Night."  
  
Louis hangs up and the guilt that pours out of him as soon as he does is impossible to ignore.  
  
He drops the phone to his side and immediately rubs his face with his hands, groaning for a long period of time before he feels utterly exhausted.  
  
He knows he can't just leave Zayn out there all night, the fucking idiot, (honestly who does that when their house is literally right next door?) and truthfully, the curiosity of what Zayn has to say to him is already bubbling inside of him vigorously.  
  
Damn it.  
  
He lets out a sigh—one that signifies the disappointment in himself and the annoyance of Zayn being an absolute disturbance like a toxic tornado that's destroyed every dream of how his summer was  _supposed_ to be spent—and he gets out of bed, his feet finding his slippers instantly.  
  
He really doesn't care what he looks like when he reaches the front door. He's wearing his non-designer pyjamas and fluffy slippers and his hair's a mess and his eyes are probably puffy from sleep but Louis really doesn't care.  
  
He doesn't care what he looks like in front of Zayn, and actually wants him to  _know_ how dishevelled Louis looks because of him.  
  
But when he opens the front door and finds Zayn pacing across the driveway in steady strides with a cloud of smoke trailing his every direction, Louis' heart (dare he admit it) sort of  _breaks_ .  
  
"Zayn?" He says it softly, cautiously. The last time they spoke and Zayn was like this, he switched into a completely different person and broke Louis in more ways than one.  
  
Yet this time, Zayn's head snaps upwards immediately at the sound of Louis’ voice, stopping in his tracks, face and eyes softening dramatically as he spots Louis—his shoulders relaxing and the corners of his lips curving upwards, happy.  
  
Louis swallows, his insides turning to goo. He's never seen anyone look so relieved to see him.  
  
"You came." Zayn says, voice hardly audible, like it's stuck in his throat.  
  
Louis nods, "Had to, didn't I? Could hear your worrying from a mile away."  
  
Zayn flashes a thankful smile and drops his head, nodding slowly, his cigarette burning out between his fingers, forgotten.  
  
"I won't keep you, it's—I'm sorry I woke you up."  
  
Louis inhales and sighs heavily, stepping outside before closing the door behind him. He walks until he reaches the steps and sits down on one, Zayn watching his every movement.  
  
He catches his eye, "What is it?"  
  
Zayn swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts his weight onto one foot at a time, uneasy and filled with trepidation.  
  
"Something's happened and I need to tell someone. You're the only person in this town—the only person in my  _life_ , really, that I actually feel comfortable sharing this with. Because I trust you a lot, actually, and feel free to kick me off your property or, like, abuse me if you want—"  
  
" _Zayn_ ," Louis interrupts, watching as Zayn rambles, the stress filling his eyes once more, his hands clenched by his sides. It's shattering to see, something awful has happened and it's taken a huge toll on the boy. "I haven't got all night, yeah? Come here."  
  
He pats the space on the step next to him and Zayn blinks at the gesture, hesitates as though Louis' teasing, like he doesn't mean it.  
  
When the punch line doesn't come, Zayn raises a brow, "Yeah?"  
  
Louis nods, tapping the space once more. Zayn visibly swallows, then cautiously walks towards him before sitting down on the same step, the furthest space away from Louis.  
  
Ouch.  
  
They sit there in silence for a bit. The smoke from Zayn's disregarded cigarette fills the air and Louis uses the pause in their conversation to inspect Zayn.  
  
He's dressed in formal attire, as though he's come from a business meeting and still hasn't slept. His suit is creased everywhere and the buttons up the top of his shirt are undone, the sleeves pushed up messily. It's unseen; the Malik's being anything but flawlessly presented, and it shocks Louis, makes the burning question in his head burn even harder:  _why_ ?  
  
But the most shocking part about Zayn isn't his clothing. It's not even the way his hair possibly looks  _worse_ than Louis'—strewn apart in countless directions, messed around as though it's been pulled at constantly.  
  
No, the worst part is Zayn's eyes.  
  
Around them are lines that imply he hasn't slept in  _days_ , there's redness around the rim and his pupils look distant, disconnected. They're puffy, too, like he's either been digging his palms into them harshly or crying for hours.  
  
Everything about him is so not Zayn and it’s hard for Louis to swallow, his throat becoming extensively dry and weak. Zayn looks so helpless and he came to Louis for help.  
  
"My parents got divorced."  
  
The air grows with tension, the flame at the end of Zayn's cigarette has burnt out, Louis' stomach drops.  
  
"Crazy, right?” Zayn says, almost laughs. "They have been for years, actually. Which is funny, because I never thought they were anything else but in love. And they couldn't tell anyone, you know. They chose to keep it a secret. For eight years."  
  
Louis' eyes widen; Zayn lets out a laugh. He brings his cigarette to his lips and tries to smoke it, pouts when he realises there's nothing of it left. It's only then, that Louis realises Zayn's been drinking.  
  
"They said they didn't want to tell us for Safaa's sake, didn't want her to find out so young. She's thirteen now, and now she’s been distraught ever since. Perfect parenting, right?"  
  
Louis lets the information settle. He remembers the stiff kisses on cheeks Zayn’s parents gave each other when his father came home. Remembers the in-depth conversation they seemed to be having while they were watching television.  
  
"They told us over a 'family meeting'." Zayn scoffs, his fingers digging into his pocket, "Turns out dad didn’t actually want me to go to work, said this was more important. I thought they were telling us about a holiday they’d planned, you know? Thought we'd actually get to spend time together as a family now that dad's finally fucking home for once." He takes out another cigarette, lights it, then takes a drag. "They said it so  _calmly_ , like they haven't been keeping it hidden all these fucking years."  
  
Louis wants to scoot closer, wants to wrap an arm around him and press his fingertips underneath the worn skin of his eyes, wants to soothe him until he's sober.  
  
"My sisters, they lost it immediately. Tears everywhere, like a fucking waterpark. I was frozen, shocked that they could even put on an act like that. When I asked them why they kept it from us for so long they gave me the most fucked up reason." He takes another drag, blows out the smoke. "For the company, they said. They wanted to stay 'married' for the sake of the  _company_ . Can you believe that?"  
  
"Why would they do that?" Louis asks, quiet.  
  
Zayn’s eyes coast to Louis, surprised, almost. Like he didn't know Louis was listening.  
  
"They built the business while they were married, built it from scratch. The higher-ups loved the concept, would rave on about it, would talk about the married couple who were in love and were working together, successful together." Zayn rolls his eyes, "I don't know. Rich people, right?"  
  
This sparks a small smile on Louis' lips, makes Zayn's eyes look a little more kind.  
  
"And so if their split became public, then the business would collapse." He continues, a little easier. "Like, I understand that part but  _fuck_ , they couldn't even tell their own family? What kind of bullshit is that? They're hypocrites, too, would always preach to us about keeping our work separate from our home life. Guess that doesn't apply when you're both lying pieces of shit."  
  
"You don't mean that." Louis whispers.  
  
Zayn sighs, shaking his head, "I don't. I'm just—still mad."  
  
He looks out onto the street as Louis looks at Zayn. It's completely pitch black, the only sources of light being the dimness of the porch light and the streetlights in the distance. The moon is full tonight, shining brightly in the cloudy sky. It's still warm, humid, and nice on Louis' skin.  
  
It’s possibly morbid how Zayn’s off-loading has resulted in Louis feeling slightly giddy, being trusted with this sort of information. He said himself that Louis’ the only person in his life that he feels the most comfortable with.  
  
It's weird, how any anger he felt has evaporated just by one more encounter with Zayn. He hates himself for it but he doesn't—he's  _missed_ Zayn.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Louis." Zayn tells him suddenly, voice sincere, his eyes meeting Louis', water pricking at the corners. "They told us the morning I," he swallows harshly, "kicked you out." He shakes his head at the memory, frowning deeply, "I shouldn't have done that.  _God_ , I was such a fucking dick to you."  
  
"That you were." Louis says, watches as Zayn's eyes drop. "But I get it," Louis adds.  
  
Zayn looks up again, eyes filled with something like hope, or complete disbelief at Louis' words. "You do?"  
  
This time, Louis looks out towards the street, Zayn's eyes locked onto his profile. "Mum's divorced twice now. It's odd, when it happens. You never suspect a thing then, bam, your dad at the time is no longer there anymore and mum's depressed every day. I remember feeling how you feel right now." He shrugs, "It happens, I guess."  
  
When he meets Zayn's gaze, it's softer and something like sympathy crosses over his face. And then Zayn's scooting a little closer, cigarette forgotten again.  
  
"I haven't slept well since that day. Half because of my parents, half because of you."  
  
Louis’ chest flutters. He can’t help the small smile that creeps on his lips. "Thought you positively hated me."  
  
Zayn shakes his head, "Don't think I'd be able to. But I did think you hated me."  
  
"Oh, I did." Louis tells him, "A lot."  
  
Zayn breathes out a small chuckle, "I'm surprised you didn't break my window, or something.  
  
"Is that why you couldn't sleep? Because you were lying awake, anticipating a brick flying through your room?" Louis asks with a smirk.  
  
"Could be," Zayn says, "But mostly it was because I couldn't forgive myself. So, like, I understand if you can't, either. Forgive me, that is."  
  
Louis sort of melts and it's definitely  _not_ because Zayn looks absolutely tragically beautiful despite his less than perfect appearance.  
  
"I think I can," Louis tells him, "But it will take a lot of head massages and favours. Also, you'll have to be my designated sunscreen applier."  
  
Zayn lets out a laugh, the sort that relaxes his entire face, brightening his eyes. It echoes throughout the soft serenity of the town and Louis falls in love with him that little bit more.  
  
"I can definitely do that." Zayn says, lips twitching up into a smirk. "I kind of miss you."  
  
Louis' eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, contorting his face into false offence, " _Kind of_ ?" He shakes his head, "No, that won't do."  
  
"Terribly." Zayn says, "I terribly, undeniably and indescribably miss you, Louis."  
  
Louis smiles greatly, Zayn mimicking. "Miss you too, Malik."  
  
And it's like all the tension in Zayn's shoulders disappear and suddenly he's wrapping his arms around Louis, bringing him into a warm hug and Louis hates himself for falling into it so easily.  
  
He wraps his arms around Zayn, breathing in the scent of smoke, whisky and Gucci, and buries his face into the familiar crook of Zayn's neck.  
  
"Thank you." Zayn tells him, quiet.  
  
Louis doesn't know what for, but somehow he understands. He doesn't reply, just squeezes him once before letting his eyes fall shut.  
  
-  
  
This time, when he wakes, the spot next to him is warm and filled. He had told Zayn to stay the night, and after a fair bit of convincing, Zayn agreed.  
  
They hadn’t stayed up for too much longer after they entered Louis' bedroom, both of them realising how exhausted they actually were.  
  
"I didn't, like, expect you to be like this." Zayn had said as he looked aimlessly around Louis' walls and furniture.  
  
"What, poor?" Louis asked, both eyebrows raised.  
  
Zayn almost fell at the question, eyes blown wide. "No, I—didn't mean your room, I meant  _you_ . Like, didn't think you'd be so forgiving and, I don't know, kind."  
  
Louis sort of frowned at that, "It's what anyone would do."  
  
To which Zayn had scoffed, "Maybe here, but.."  
  
He sort of trailed off at that, and then changed the subject to making Louis fill him in on how he spent their time apart. Which was confronting and embarrassing at the same time, really, because all Louis did for a bloody  _week_ was think about Zayn and wallowed in his own thoughts, simultaneously never leaving his house by studying.  
  
Now, as Louis blinks open his eyes and is met with Zayn's face, so peacefully asleep and utterly gorgeous—he sort of wants to stay here for days, just drinking in Zayn underneath the sun's glare.  
  
"Can feel you staring, Tomlinson." Zayn mumbles after a few minutes, a smirk forming.  
  
Louis blinks. "You're awake?"  
  
Zayn shifts, turning to face Louis, his eyes unopened. "Sort of."  
  
Louis clears his throat, "Well, I wasn't  _staring_ , actually. I'm hardly awake meself—"  
  
"Shh," Zayn tells him, his eyelashes spread out delicately over his cheeks, "Don't speak, just lay with me."  
  
And, yeah, Louis can definitely get used to this.  
  
-  
  
They spend the day around town, ending up on the school's football oval, Louis promising Zayn he'll teach him how to play.  
  
The sun beams down and Louis can already feel himself becoming burnt where his singlet doesn't cover but he hardly wants to leave. Because Zayn's running around, chasing the ball, smiling largely and sweaty as anything.  
  
And Louis stands there, watching him, sort of  _proud_ in more ways than one. It’s been proved, rather quickly, that Zayn's not some stuck-up rich guy who will feel completely out of place in a suburban public school—he's a normal teenager, and Louis can already see him now, fitting in with the crowd.  
  
"You're a natural!" Louis tells him once Zayn's run up to where he's standing, out of breath and beaming.  
  
"Yeah?" He says, picking the ball up and tucking it under his arm, "Still not as good as you, though. You're a pro, like, David Beckham pro."  
  
Louis lets out a shocked laugh, "Take the unrealistic compliments down a notch, there, Malik. You sound like an arse-kisser."  
  
Zayn's smile shifts into a mischievous smirk, stepping towards Louis before he says, in a low voice, "Maybe I am."  
  
And Louis has to throw back his head and cringe, "Oh my god, stop."  
  
Zayn takes Louis in his arms, wrapping them around Louis' waist. Louis pretends to try and squirm away but he fails miserably and gives in, ends up lacing his hands around Zayn's neck.  
  
"You're absolutely incredible." Zayn says, his eyes so close to his own, so vibrant, so soft.  
  
"And you're absolutely sweaty." Louis states, his thumbs brushing slightly at Zayn's hair at the back of his neck, "Get off me."  
  
Zayn quirks a brow, "That's an awfully large demand from someone who adores me."  
  
"What on earth gave you that illusion?" Louis asks him, scoffing.  
  
Zayn bites his lip, looks up at him with hooded, seductive eyes. It's supposed to be corny, intentionally overdone, but Louis would be lying if he said he wasn't completely turned on.  
  
"Something I like to call body language."  
  
Louis raises a brow, "Never heard of it."  
  
Zayn tilts his head; "Maybe you're familiar with this, then?"  
  
His hand comes up to place underneath Louis' chin, bringing him forward. Louis comes effortlessly, pressing his lips against Zayn's, humming ever so slightly as he does.  
  
Zayn's other hand brings Louis closer to him, his arm wrapping tighter around his waist. Louis feels absolutely enveloped amongst Zayn and he couldn't be more pleased.  
  
When they part, Zayn's tongue darts out to lick his lips and Louis tracks the movement, nodding slowly to himself.  
  
"Yeah, that rings a bell."  
  
Zayn chuckles, low and soft, before meeting Louis' lips again.  
  
-  
  
"Ready to go back home?" Louis asks Zayn as they walk hand in hand, the sky a transitioning blend of pinks and purples, showing the beginning of a sunset.  
  
Zayn lets out a soft sigh, "Yeah, probably. Don't think I'm angry anymore, like, I think it'll be alright."  
  
"Yeah, I think so, too."  
  
Zayn smiles at that, looks at Louis meaningfully, his eyes shining a crimson colour underneath the darkening sky. And Louis smiles, too, squeezing Zayn's hand.  
  
Zayn squeezes back and it shouldn't send such a flurry of emotion in Louis' chest, but it does.  
  
"I'm seeing you tomorrow." Zayn says, without question.  
  
They stop outside Louis' house. "Do I get a say in that?"  
  
Zayn pretends to think about it, then shakes his head, "No."  
  
Louis rolls his eyes but leans in to kiss Zayn anyway, a smile forming as he does so, silently wishing he could go with Zayn. He knows he can't, though; Zayn has some family discussions he needs to get through, first.  
  
"Goodnight, Lou." Zayn says, giving him a warm hug, his hands sliding up and down Louis' back, comforting.  
  
"Goodnight, Zayn." Louis says, pressing a quick kiss to Zayn's cheek before letting go of him.  
  
Louis opens the door to his house, ready to step into it before he feels a hand grab his wrist delicately, telling him to wait. He looks behind his shoulder, and meets Zayn’s sheepish eyes.  
  
"Just wanted to thank you. Again." He says, a small smile appearing. "You're a good person, Louis. A really good person."  
  
And Louis' heart swells so much he's surprised it doesn't burst.  
  
"So are you, Zayn."  
  
Zayn gives him a lop-sided grin, dropping his hand around Louis' wrist before shoving both his hands into his pockets, nodding modestly. "See you soon."  
  
And Louis watches as Zayn turns around and makes his way down the porch steps. He can't help but sigh, can't help wondering if this sense of endless gratitude towards an act so normal means that Zayn's never had someone in his life that cares so much about him. Never even had a real  _friend_ .  
  
And that night Louis texts him, just in case, and hopes that this town brings him endless friends and extensive loyalty. Something that Zayn most definitely deserves.  
  
-  
  
They see each other regularly after that. Louis sometimes visits Zayn at work, where they’d then walk around the streets hand in hand and talk about whatever’s on their mind. They’d see each other every day—Zayn would sleep over and Louis would sometimes watch him play with Louis’ little sisters, how easily they got along, the squeals of laughter and sounds of tiny feet running on the floorboards filling the house. Or Louis would sleep over at Zayn’s, when nobody would be home, and they’d fuck until morning, when the sun rises, staying in bed all day.  
  
It’s perfect, Louis thinks. He’d wake up and it’d be a short walk over to see Zayn. Or sometimes he’ll be surprised with Zayn already in his bed, playing with his hair as his way of saying good morning.  
  
The days fly passed, and Louis and Zayn have rapidly become so accustomed to one another, as though separation would be a death sentence to them both. Some may think that’s dangerous, unhealthy, but Louis’ never felt so at home with someone like Zayn before.  
  
Now, it’s a day before school starts up again, the end of summer holidays nearing, and they’re lying on a huge hammock in Zayn’s backyard, bodies close and wrapped in each other. Louis’ curled by Zayn’s side, his leg and arm swung over him, practically completely on top of his body. Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, though, never seems to mind.  
  
“Are you still nervous to start at a new school?” Louis asks him, curled up to his side, playing with the light hairs on Zayn’s chest.  
  
“Haven’t even thought about it, to be honest.” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away from his magazine to look at him, “I’ve got you now, anyway.”  
  
Louis feels his smile grow. He blinks softly up at Zayn, and Zayn closes the gap between them, pressing a kiss to his lips, like a gesture of finality—sealing an unspoken promise. And it turns Louis into mush, a sort of giddiness,  _knowing_ that this isn’t just a summer-time fling.  
  
-  
  
Zayn picks Louis up from his house the morning of school. He’s dressed in the uniform, looking so pristine and unbelievably attractive—pulling off a colour that Louis thought nobody could. He’s smiling widely once Louis opens the front door, excitement and nerves surrounding his body so much that Louis can feel it.  
  
“Ready?” Louis asks him, taking Zayn’s hand into his own, squeezing it firmly.  
  
Zayn nods at him, “Just promise me you won’t leave me.”  
  
He lets out a short laugh and Louis lets his free hand rest comfortably on Zayn’s bicep as they walk together down the porch steps.  
  
“Could never, Zayner.” Louis tells him.  
  
Because, realistically, he plans on spending every day with Zayn at school. Despite not being in the same classes, he knows Zayn will fit in well with Louis’ friends, and he knows Louis will fit in well with Zayn’s. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so sure, but it’s a gut feeling—one so prominent he must be right.  
  
When they reach the school gates, the bell rings on time and Zayn and Louis are forced to separate.  
  
“I’ll see you at break, yeah?”  
  
“Alright,” Zayn says, turning to face him, “C’mere first, though.”  
  
Louis smirks at him as Zayn’s hands grab at Louis’ waist, bringing him closer. Louis laces his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and leans into him, pressing a sweet kiss to Zayn’s lips.  
  
Zayn hums pleasantly, “Miss you already.”  
  
Louis scoffs, “You sap.”  
  
Zayn grins, kisses him again. And, god, if Louis’ not absolutely, inconceivably in love.  
  
-  
  
At the end of the day, Zayn meets Louis near the school’s car park. Louis can see him coming out of one of the classrooms, walking with someone else that Louis’ never seen before. They look like they’re getting along well, Zayn smiling as he talks.  
  
Louis’ heart sort of warms at it, totally flips as soon as Zayn’s eyes lock onto him.  
  
He watches as Zayn pats his friend on the back and they part ways. “Hey, babe.”  
  
“Hey,” Louis says, giving Zayn a kiss. “Who was that?”  
  
“He’s been in most my classes today, seems like a good guy.” Zayn tells him, placing his hand on Louis’ lower back as they begin to walk back home, his warmth radiating off him. “How was your day?”  
  
They talk as they walk, and afterwards Louis stays at Zayn’s. They watch TV and eat and fuck and shower together, being so in tune with each other, so compatible, and Louis sort of wants to move in with Zayn already.  
  
It’s a scary thought—so he never says it out loud. He also never tells Zayn he loves him, either. Zayn never says it to Louis, but it’s obvious that they both do—it’s in the air, somehow.  
  
Though, Louis’ never regretted his own silence more.  
  
-  
  
It continues like that for around three weeks: Zayn picking Louis up, walking to school together, spending their breaks together, walking home, hanging out until dinner or later, and then they’d meet up again the next morning.  
  
Weekends are different, Zayn still has work, Louis still has study to do. They make the time, though. Louis visits Zayn after work, Zayn helps Louis memorise the coursework.  
  
Louis picks up smoking, from Zayn, of course. And they sit on the roof, looking out over the stars, smoking cigarettes and playing games. It’s almost dream-like, completely unreal. So Louis cuddles Zayn that little bit tighter, leans in a little more closer, just to make sure his dream doesn’t fade away.  
  
They’re partners, best friends, and in that moment in time, Louis was certain they’d be inseparable.  
  
-  
  
By the fourth week, the stress of finals builds in Louis, realising how badly he needs to knuckle down if he wants to achieve the right score in order to get into his desired university.  
  
So he texts Zayn, telling him he’ll be in the library after school finishing off some work and that he’s welcome to join. What Louis doesn’t expect is a text back telling him that he’s got other plans anyway, but he’ll see him afterwards.  
  
And Louis frowns at it, wonders what other plans he had and why Zayn never said anything about it all day. But he brushes it off, texting back with hearts and kisses.   


...

  
He sees him in the hallway every now and then, walking with a group of people Louis’ never spoken to before. It used to be nice, seeing him. They’d stop in their tracks and Zayn would wrap him in a hug, even kiss him sometimes, and Louis would feel like he was riding on a cloud.  
  
Louis’ mother had once said to him, “This is serious, isn’t it?” And he had responded with an infectious grin and bashful eyes, “Yeah, I think so.” And they hugged in the middle of the kitchen, telling him she’s happy that he’s found someone worth keeping.  
  
It was gradual, Louis and Zayn’s separation. Like a slow transition from lovers to strangers, and Louis knows why.  
  
Conflicted schedules, different groups, new after-school curriculums.  
  
They had ended up getting to school at different times, not being able to have their usual chats in the morning, and Louis would go days without talking to him, without knowing about Zayn’s day, his friends, his issues with teachers. They’d text on and off, too, until the conversations got too repetitive, boring. He hasn’t sent a text to Zayn for over a month now.  
  
He was busy, too busy, was the thing. He had finals coming up, he was graduating soon, and he had senior parties to attend and college applications to fill out.  
  
And two months later, time flew by without Louis noticing, and all of a sudden, but not suddenly at all, Louis and Zayn would walk past each other in the hallway without even a touch of acknowledgment—no eye contact, kisses, or anything in between.  
  
But Louis deals with it, he has to. It hurts sometimes, when the rush of the day dies down and he’s lying in bed, missing the familiar warmth beside him. But Louis deals with it.  
  
And if his classmate comes by one day to work on an assignment and looks out of Louis’ bedroom window, mouth agape as he says, “Louis, who the  _hell_ is that?” Then Louis won’t even look up—doesn’t even hesitate to know who they’re gawking over. He’ll just say, “My neighbour,” And his friend will whistle, shake his head, “He’s fucking _gorgeous_ .” But Louis won’t reply, just like he did when his sisters were cooing over the same boy. Instead, he’ll tap his pen to the book he’s reading and say, “Can we get back to this, please?” despite the burning in his chest.  
  
It’s like a secret neither of them promised to keep—an untold story with an unfinished ending, something of a quick, fantastic dream and Louis sometimes finds himself wondering if that summer was even _real_ .  
  
But that’s okay; Louis understands that nothing lasts forever.  
  
-  
  
At graduation, as he’s sitting on the chairs laid out on stage next to his friends and other classmates, facing the crowd of the rest of the school, he listens to the principal for a maximum of two minutes before his attention fades away.  
  
As he scans the crowd in front of him, he thinks of Zayn.  
  
He thinks about the conversation he had overheard one night, one that his mum and Mrs Malik were talking about while Louis was in his room. They were talking about him and Zayn, something that they usually do now and then, saying how much of a shame it was that people drift. This particular conversation was different, though.  
  
“—It’s always been the way he copes with it, always acted this way when he knew Yaser was leaving, too.” Mrs Malik had said, voice solemn.  
  
Louis’ mum had hummed in response, “Suppose it’s easier to let someone go by detaching, isn’t it?”  
  
And Louis remembers how it made his stomach fall, how he had zoned out for a bit, letting it process and making himself understand. From then on, Louis didn’t want to rekindle his and Zayn’s relationship, understanding that Zayn needs someone constant, reliable.  
  
And Louis’ built up such a wall for months now, he’s too afraid to meet up with Zayn, just knowing that with one word he could knock it all down.  
  
But then Louis’ mind drifts back to the graduation, the principal’s monotone voice filling his ears. He turns to one of his friends and reaches for his hat, knocking it off his head. His friend scowls at him and Louis laughs, knowing that his annoyance could occupy him for hours.  
  
-  
  
“Today’s the day, mister.” Louis’ mother weeps, her hands placed on either side of Louis’ face, her eyes glassy from the tears she’s trying to keep in.  
  
Louis breathes out steadily, excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins, “It is.”  
  
His mother wraps him in a hug and she holds him tightly. Louis hugs her close, knowing it’ll be a while before he returns back home. He’ll be in another country, with new people, new surroundings, new everything.  
  
“Behave yourself, alright?”  
  
Louis gives her a smile, “When have I  _ever_ done differently?”  
  
She throws him a look and his smile turns to a grin as she slaps him playfully. She sighs at him, “Now, are you sure you’ve got everything you need?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , mum. We’ve been over it a hundred times.” He says, a hand resting on her shoulder.  
  
They hear a car toot from outside and his mother’s eyes immediately start to well up. The taxi’s here.  
  
“This is it.” Louis says, almost to himself, breathing in.  
  
He grabs his suitcase and carry on luggage before heading towards the door. Before he opens it, though, he feels a soft hand on his wrist. He turns to his mother, her nose red as she sniffs back the tears.  
  
“Give me a hug now, then.” She says, gesturing for him to come closer, “Don’t think I’ll be able to handle seeing you drive off.”  
  
He smiles softly, and then embraces his mum again; letting her take all the time she needs despite the impatient taxi driver’s tooting. She eventually pulls back, tells him to call her every night, and wishes him good luck.  
  
Louis exits the house, his suitcase trailing behind him. He’s heading to university, finally, ready to study something he’s  _actually_ interested in. It’s taken him long enough; really, his patience has been wearing thin ever since he knew what he wanted to do in his second year of high school.  
  
He nods to the taxi driver as he gets out of the car, walking behind it to pop the boot. Louis’ about to help, when the sound of someone’s voice catches his eye.  
  
“Alright, see you tomorrow.”  
  
Zayn.  
  
The car he just waved to is parked in front of the taxi, starting its engine, ready to drive off. And Louis watches Zayn, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He’s grown a fair bit, now that Louis looks at him closely. His shoulders look broader, his face slimed out even more, his stubble filling up his jawline. It’s a hard sight to see.  
  
He remembers the time when he thought they’d grow together. It’s pitiful, thinking back. Of course they’d have to leave each other sometime, it was inevitable yet he still dreamt of forever.  
  
Then Zayn stops in his tracks and Louis swallows deeply.  
  
He notices the taxi first, his eyes scanning it, placing things together in his mind before catching sight of Louis.  
  
It should send excitement through his body, should reignite the flame that was once there, should feel a pang of hurt, even. Just  _something_ to remind himself of their history, of their once profound love. But there’s nothing.  
  
He stares at Zayn and Zayn stares at him but Louis doesn’t feel a thing at all.  
  
Louis notices the creases on Zayn’s forehead, frowning at the fact that Louis will be leaving for good. He notices how Zayn opens his mouth, then closes it—like he’s got a million and one things to say but doesn’t—and a smile stretches on his lips.  
  
It’s small, quaint, but Louis understands the meaning.  
  
He lifts up his hand, gives Zayn a short wave. Then Zayn nods once, short and final, his way of saying something like “good luck” or “good bye.” And Louis contemplates walking over to him and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s middle, hugging him for the last time.  
  
Instead, their eyes drop from each other, continuing on opposite paths. And the notion of it being the last time they’ll hold each other’s gaze is evident in the forefront of Louis’ mind.  
  
Everything turns into a blur, then, until he hears the taxi driver call out to him.  
  
When his luggage is packed away, he gets into the car and sits down on the leather seat. He breathes out a steady breath, hands suddenly feeling sweaty as he places them on his knees.  
  
He shifts slightly, and he feels something digging into his side—something small, something squashed. He fiddles around in the pocket of his summer shorts until he finds the object, a familiar feeling between his fingers and his stomach drops at the realisation.  
  
He thinks it’s just another one of his own cigarettes, one that he must’ve shoved in there, forgotten. But when he takes it out, his mouth goes completely dry.  
  
As he stares at it, an avalanche of memories corrupt his mind all at once.  
  
The cigarette’s bent, the writing’s smudged and the relevance of it weighs him down like an anchor—the way Zayn held it casually, his melodic voice, “Do you want it?”, the innocence of it all, the butterflies accompanied by the nervous sweat on his palms—it makes him rethink England, rethink the months of each others absence, rethink everything he’s done since school started, and wonders whether or not it’d be too late to mend.  
  
He knows the memory of Zayn’s silhouette, the raven hair, the intriguing eyes, the contagious laugh, will haunt him in his mind—imprinted like a tattoo. He’s an idiot for thinking he can get over it, an idiot for suppressing his emotions, covering it up like a mask.  
  
An idiot for never telling Zayn how he truly felt, the words “I love you” never leaving his mouth. An absolute fucking idiot.  
  
And maybe that’s why he’s felt numb for so long, because he knew this would have to end sometime soon. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to fall too hard, didn’t want to feel too much.  
  
But now it fills him up, bubbling up throughout him, ready to release it all, ready to sob until he’s sore.  
  
He vaguely wonders if Zayn will feel the same, whether he’ll wake up one morning and realise his chance to make Louis stay has gone. Wonders whether that’s why they became distant—because in the back of their minds, they both knew that one day whatever they had would eventually be discontinued.  
  
Louis remembers how silent and stiff Zayn went whenever college was mentioned. He didn’t say a word on it, didn’t even ask Louis to stay or to study somewhere closer. And it’s not like Zayn didn’t want Louis, he knew that, but it was because Zayn didn’t want to stop Louis from doing what he wanted, must have seen the excitement in Louis’ eyes, the determination. And it hits Louis like a knife to the chest.  
  
He feels his throat become tighter, his eyes become wetter. It only gets worse when he realises that they never even took photos together, no videos or visual memories for Louis to go back to. Only the moments in his mind… and that’s scary to him, knowing that inevitably, those memories will be replaced, lost.  
  
But the other half of him knows that it’s for the better, really.  
  
So Louis drops the cigarette like he drops his gaze and lets it fall between his seat and the door, ready to be forgotten.  


And when the engine starts and the taxi begins to move, his body betrays him. He suddenly lets out a small, wrecked sob as he looks at his neighbour’s house instead of his own, and he watches as the boy he once knew disappear like the stranger he once was.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. A Year Later

The atmosphere is a mix between excitement, sadness and relief. The students all congratulate each other and the parents have tears in their eyes filled with joy. The teachers are either patting the backs of their pupils with grins or not mingling at all, rather standing in the sidelines checking their watches to see when this will all be over.

Zayn can relate more so to those jaded teachers than anyone else. He’s been standing against the brick wall of the closest building waiting for Niall to finish his rounds for longer than he thought would be necessary.

His graduation hat has already been thrown somewhere; belonging in amongst all the other discarded hats, symbolising freedom. He supposes he should feel a little bit happy—proud of himself, almost—but he mostly sees it as another day, as though he’s seen this once before, when he was made to sit there at assembly, watching the class before graduate, watching his neighbour with the blue eyes catch his gaze and look away like they’d never met.

It leaves a salty taste in his mouth.

“Zayn, mate, you ready?” Niall asks, almost shouting as he breaks his way through the crowd, “I swear, if someone else asks me what I’m doin’ now that I’m not in school I’m gonna fuckin’ vomit all over their shit-stupid shoes.”

Zayn lets out a small chuckle and shakes his head, “Yeah, mate, let’s go.”

They cross the oval that leads into the other side of town, a place where they had found by accident when Jimmy Falhawk kicked the ball so hard that it flew over the fence and onto an unknown dirt trail. Niall and Zayn visited it again one lunchtime and walked the trail—leading them to an open field of grassy hills and a running stream. They’ve gone there after school every day ever since.

Niall collapses on one of the hills looking over the stream with a deep sigh. He puts his backpack behind his head and rests on it, closing his eyes. Zayn sits next to him and fishes out his pre-made joints from the plastic pocket in his bag. He lights one and takes in a long drag, the sounds of water flowing and birds chirping the only things he can hear.

“I like this so much better than all that crowded nonsense.” Zayn mutters, passing to Niall’s waiting fingers.

“I know.” Niall says matter-of-factly. He opens his eyes to look at him, “Oh, guess what.”

Zayn’s brows furrow, “What?”

“Nah, you have to guess.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, “Niall—“

“I’m jokin’.” Niall snickers, passing the joint back to Zayn. “Um, Olivia wants to go on a double date.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and, like. She was wonderin’ if you wanted to come? With her mate, Georgie?”

Zayn swallows. He knows Georgie, she’s a sweet girl with short blonde hair and contagious laugh. They had a few classes together and he’s always known she’s liked him.

“I know you don’t like doing this shit, but,” Niall continues, observing the expression on Zayn’s face, “It could be good for you, you know? Georgie’s cool, and it wouldn’t be weird ‘cause I’d be there.”

Zayn shakes his head, looking at the grass beneath him. He pulls at it, tearing it out from the ground.

“Thanks for the offer, man, but I’m gonna have to pass on that one.”

There’s a vague silence that follows and Zayn knows exactly what Niall’s thinking. He’s going to bring it up and Zayn will have to talk about it and that is not happening.

“So, how good’s it knowing we won’t ever have to wake up to go to school ever again?”

“Are you still hung up on that dude?”

Zayn looks up to the sky and sighs. There it is.

He’s not exactly “hung up” on him, he just… can’t help but compare him to everyone else. He’s tried to move on—dear god, he’s tried—with men, women and nothing has ever come close. There was this one girl, Jacinta, and they had hit it off straight away, a firework type of relationship. And Zayn thought he could really grow to like her. But it was as though everything she did didn’t live up to what he wanted. Her laugh was too scattered, her eyes were too green, her legs were too long, her hair was too dark, she wasn’t as exciting or as mischievous or as loveable or as comforting and she just wasn’t him.

He knew then that something was wrong. That perhaps he was destined to live without love.

“Why did him leaving affect you so badly, anyway?” Niall prods, swinging his foot to the side so his shoe knocks into Zayn’s ankle, “When me and you started bein’ mates you never even smiled at him.”

“It didn’t affect me—“

Niall sits up then, looking Zayn dead in the eye, “Are you seriously gonna fuck with me right now?”

Zayn shifts his position, eyes avoiding Niall’s protruding glare. He doesn’t know how else to react so he just laughs and digs his shoe further into the ground, but when he looks back up his laughing stops abruptly.

Niall’s blue eyes are like a steel type of colour and they go clearer the more he’s serious—right now, they’re translucent.

“Alright, it affected me, so what?” Zayn leans back, digging his elbows into the soil. “I thought it wouldn’t because I made us drift apart so early on, but…” Zayn shrugs.

“What do you mean ‘made us drift apart’?” Niall questions, his eyebrows pulled together, “If you knew he was leaving wouldn’t you want to keep him as close as possible?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly show that he wanted me close either, so.”

Zayn knows he’s acting like a child. But it really, really fucking hurt when he had to watch Louis leave in that taxi without so much as a pathetic wave.

Niall hangs his head, his hair more brown than blonde now, the receding blonde fading at the ends of his hair like accidental balayage. Niall knows Zayn’s acting like a child, too, and Zayn feels as though he’ll have to explain himself. It’s about time, anyway.

“Ever since I can remember, my dad, like… he’s always away on long trips, right?” Zayn begins, licking his lips, trying to organise the words in his head, “He’s in Brazil right now, actually—“

Niall picks his head up at that, “Wait, he wasn’t there for your graduation?”

“No, ‘course not.” Zayn snorts. “But, basically, he’d always leave without notice and he’d more often than not be gone for months on end. And, y’know, as a kid that’s a hard thing to process ‘cause one day he’s there, giving you all this time and love and always doing exciting things and then the next day, like…” Zayn swallows, trailing off, the heel of his shoe creating a pit in the ground, “I’d wake up every morning excited to see him. Like, honestly, I’d race down the stairs and my whole day was based around what he was planning, yeah? So waking up, racing down to see my dad only to find out from my mum that he’s gone… It was pretty tough.”

Niall exhales, as though he was holding his breath, and shakes his head, “No fucking shit, mate.”

“And after being put through that, like, the unexpectedness and the disappointment so many times, y’know, I couldn’t deal with that type of shit pain anymore. So, I created a method. And when mum gave me sisters, I told them that method. And god, it’s fucking grim looking back now, but basically,” Zayn licks his lips again, “I told them to keep as much distance as possible from dad. ‘Cause, like, I didn’t want them to go through what I did. And, yeah, it worked.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, “Didn’t work for Louis, though, did it?”

Zayn breathes in deeply, the pain in his chest as evident as it was when he watched him drive away.

He refuses to think about it anymore. They just graduated, for God’s sake.

He cocks his head towards Niall’s fingers, “Pass me the spliff, will you?”

~

Zayn enters his house half an hour before dinnertime. The aroma of roasted chicken and potatoes fill his nose and his stomach rumbles instantly, realising he hasn’t eaten in hours. The house feels relatively empty, despite the sounds of cooking in the kitchen and the faint hum of sitcom audience laughter coming from the TV in the other room.

He bypasses the living room and heads straight for the stairs, eager to wash off the day and chill in bed until dinner’s served. Though, he gets to about the fifth step when he hears his mother’s voice behind him.

“Zayn, darling, you’re home!”

He turns and fixes a smile on his face, “Hey, mum.”

“You looked so gorgeous in your graduating cloak today, accepting your certificate and standing up there on stage. I’m so proud of you, Zayn.”

“Could say I scrub up nice, hey?” Zayn waggles his brows with a smirk tugging at his lips. His mother laughs.

“Of course you do, love.” Her smile fades slightly and she starts to twist her hands together, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to the end, there’s finalising that still needs to be done for—“

“Work.” Zayn finishes for her, nodding. “It’s alright.”

She gives him a soft smile, “You’ve always been so understanding. Come here.”

Zayn walks down the stairs to meet her and falls into her waiting arms. She wraps him up into a big hug and Zayn reciprocates it. She hasn’t hugged him this tightly since she found Zayn in the backyard with a red face and tear-stained cheeks one year ago.

The pain in his chest returns from the memory and Zayn pulls away.

“How long will dinner be?” He asks, blinking repetitively as a distraction to what his eyes really want to do.

“Not too long now, Geoffrey’s almost done. Relax for a bit, yeah?”

Zayn nods, “Yeah. Just call me when it’s ready.”

He collapses on his bed straight away. He doesn’t bother turning on any lights or closing the blinds, just lets the moonlight wash through his room as he lies there, suddenly too tired to move.

Letting his eyes fall shut, his mind immediately wanders to the future. What will he do now? Will he move out? Find another job? Contemplate a university course? Travel? He wonders what life consists of now that he doesn’t have early starts to the day and responsibilities and homework and wonders whether what’s left of his social life will disintegrate into the ground now that he’s not forced to see everyone everyday. He’ll remain friends with Niall for life, though. That’s a given.

And like the devil, Zayn’s phone buzzes with “The Dirty Irish Man” on his screen. It’s a text, so Zayn swipes it open. He groans inwardly when he reads it.

Still sayin no to the double date??? Georgie is askin me , shes super keen!!

He drops the phone onto his bed and rubs at his eyes. He wishes he could say yes, maybe take her out just the two of them and have a really good time with no awkward moments and just have a night where it makes him forget, but—

But what? What’s the one thing that’s holding him back, making him refuse to just lock away the past and never return? All day he’s heard speeches about going forward and focusing on the future and moving on. At the time, Zayn had drifted off to sleep once or twice, but now he’s reconsidering it—knowing that following those words will be better off.

Zayn swallows harshly.

He picks up his phone and replies to Niall’s text: changed my mind, what’s the details?

~

Dinner with the family shouldn’t be as tense as it is. The only sounds are cutlery scratching against the plate, chewing and the tap running in the kitchen where Geoffrey is washing up. Everyone’s looking down at their food and Zayn wonders if he had his phone at the table his parents would even notice.

It’s all a little laughable, really. They only have dinner together once a week but Zayn thinks it’d be less hassle and a lot less awkward if they abolished family dinners altogether.

They were always bad, but things escalated when his parents had admitted their split and they didn’t have to pretend anymore. His father had flown home four days after Zayn’s graduation, said his congratulations, gave him a present worth $500 and patted him on the back, then like a flip of a coin, turned back to their non-speaking state.

Honestly, a slap in the face would have sufficed.

Once everyone had finished eating, Geoffrey cleaned up all the empty plates and refilled their waters. Zayn stood, ready to excuse himself, but was unexpectedly told to sit back down.

“Your father and I have some news for all of you,” His mother began, sitting up straighter and tilting her chin up as though she were at a conference meeting, the tense energy in the room escalating, “It’s rather big news, and we want you all to take it with open minds and without arguments. Understood?”

Zayn shares a look with Doniya, but all the girls and Zayn nod, comprehending.

His father looks them all in the eye, then clears his throat. He’s frowning slightly, like he’s preparing to be challenged with what comes out of his mouth.

“We’re moving to England.”

The room goes silent.

A chair screeches against the floorboards as Waliyha leaves the table and storms out of the room. His father opens his mouth as he looks at her, frown deepening and ready to shout. Zayn’s mother places a soft hand on his forearm to stop him, though, and he looks at her, his features relaxing.

Zayn can’t help but notice the interaction and registers it for later.

“England?” Safaa asks, her tone unsure.

His mother nods, “We wanted to wait until Zayn graduated—“

“We spent years building this house and waiting to move in, only to live in it for two?” Doniya asks, knowing better than to go off her rocket like Zayn knows she wants to.

“I was just fitting in…” Safaa adds softly, looking down at her lap. Zayn takes her hand.

He catches his father’s eyes looking down at the contact. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows harshly, and then his face turns cold, looking them all in the eye individually.

“We leave Thursday.” He tells them, then leaves.

~

“This is fucking bullshit.” Waliyha rolls her eyes as she collapses on Zayn’s bed. “I cannot believe we’re going to fucking England.”

Zayn, from his window seat, goes to open his mouth but the door flies open before he can.

“Why am I not surprised?” Doniya walks in, sitting down next to Waliyha.

“Why does nobody knock anymore?” Zayn asks, but might as well be talking to his window.

“You know, we could leak to the press that our parents aren’t actually married and the business would come crumbling down.” Waliyha suggests, her eyes lighting up.

The door opens again and Safaa enters, her eyes red-rimmed, her palms rubbing at them and sniffling. Zayn sits up.

“Come here, sweet.” Safaa walks over to him and he hoists her onto his knee. He uses his thumb to swipe away a tear she missed. “Did you know Waliyha is a devilish child?”

“One, I’m not a child.” She retorts, “And two, isn’t that boy you love hopelessly in England?”

Zayn’s face darkens.

Doniya gasps, “He is! Oh, finally, you won’t be such a sad sack.”

Zayn blinks, then frowns, “Hey—“

“Will you meet up, then?” Safaa asks, a smile twitching on her lips, “I liked him.”

Zayn takes in a deep breath. He shifts Safaa and adjusts his position, tries not to place attention on the butterflies inside him flapping vigorously at the thought of possibly seeing Louis again.

“Uh, he’s in Uni. Like, he has a dorm and everything, so probably not.” Zayn realises, and the butterflies dim, “England’s bigger than you think, too. So the chances of us bumping into each other are a thousand to one.”

Waliyha scoffs. Doniya rolls her eyes.

“Why don’t you just text him?” Safaa shrugs like that’s the easiest solution in the world.

Zayn looks her in the eye and lies through his teeth.

“I don’t have his number.” He says.

“He wouldn’t reply.” He thinks.

~

The liquid burns as it goes down, the kind that’s so strong it makes Zayn cough and splutter. Niall throws his head back and cackles.

“God, why’d you get this?” Zayn complains, the back of his hand covering his mouth. “Fucking disgusting.”

Niall laughs again and takes the flask out from Zayn’s hand, “More for me!”

Zayn shakes his head and looks out over the cliff they’ve parked at. He can see the city skyline from here, lighting up like the moon in the middle of the night. The air is a bearable warmth as they sit atop Niall’s bonnet, Cigarettes After Sex playing from inside the car.

He watches Niall take a gulp of tequila without so much of an expression besides the faintest of squeezed eyes. He shakes his head as though that will get rid of the aftertaste and screws the lid back onto the flask.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Niall says, dead-pan, eyes on the sky.

Zayn cringes with a groan, “That saying is so old.”

“Still holds relevance, though, don’t it?” Niall looks at Zayn, then, “Seriously, why’re you looking at me like that?”

“I gotta tell you something.”

A flash of panic casts over Niall’s eyes, but it’s quickly disguised with humour. “Malik, are you finally admitting your undeniable crush on me after all these years?”

“I’ve only known you for, like, nine months, you dirty Irish.”

Niall places a hand over his chest as he faux-gasps. “The abuse!”

Zayn chuckles and hits his arm, “Stop it. I’m serious. I gotta tell you something that I was told on Tuesday.” He looks down at his hands. “And you’re not gonna like it.”

Niall blinks, “Shoot.”

With a deep breath, Zayn tells him. “I’m moving to England for six months with the family and I leave on Thursday.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Niall shouts, startling Zayn so abundantly he has to catch himself so he doesn’t fall off the side of the car. “You’re moving?!”

Zayn can do so much as nod weakly.

“Bullshit. Bull. Shit.” Niall presses his middle finger and thumb in between his eyes and shuts them, breathing deeply. “Why?”

“Parent’s work. Apparently.” Zayn replies, soft.

“Man, this sucks some serious balls.” He finally looks at Zayn again and his eyes widen with realisation, “That’s tomorrow!”

“Our flights at seven.” Zayn explains, “And I’m not sure what time we’ll land but I’ll try and call you straight away.”

Niall shakes his head, “Nah, you’ll be jetlagged. Call when you can, I’ll be here waiting.”

He leans over and wraps Zayn in a hug. Zayn returns it whole-heartedly, squeezing him until he can’t breathe.

“I’ll miss you.” Zayn tells him.

“Stop that,” Niall says, “I didn’t even have time to take your advice and distance myself from you. Go away.”

Zayn gives him a well-deserved slap on the back of the head.

~

The flight was death, to put it lightly. There were two babies that were screaming for what seemed like the majority of the flight—and honestly, who brings babies into business class?—plus the conversations that were had around him weren’t exactly pleasant enough to be lulled asleep.

His family were arguing the entirety of the trip to the airport, before, during and after the flight and every now and then in the limo ride to their temporary home. What bugs Zayn the most is that it’s over the smallest issues, and almost every time it’s either his mother or father who initiate it.

Speaking of which, Zayn had noticed more light touches and looks, similar to the ones he spotted at the dinner table the other night. His mother had even laughed at something his father had said, which she hasn’t genuinely done in years. Zayn considers telling his sisters, but he’s convinced himself he’s only seeing things.

“Now, this house is smaller than the one we will be officially moving into but it’s only for a few weeks until the permanent one becomes fully furnished. Okay?” His father announces as they pull into the drive-way.

Mumbled responses come from the girls as Zayn’s eyelids droop. It’s around 10AM in broad daylight but all that’s on Zayn’s mind is sleep sleep sleep.

His mother notices his fatigue and rubs his back as they enter the house. “Zayn, darling, your room is the first door when you go up the stairs. The bed’s already here so you can get some rest.”

Zayn smiles a thanks and makes his way up the stairs sluggishly. He doesn’t even take in what his room is like, just spots the bed and instantly falls into it, letting sleep overtake him.

When he wakes, it’s completely pitch black outside. He immediately checks his phone and sees that it’s 11PM. He must have slept for a whole day and then some. He lies there in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The thing is, he’s wide awake now and staying up for another few hours until everyone else wakes up seems to be the only option.

So, Zayn rolls out of bed and blindly makes his way down the stairs, using the torch on his phone as a guide. He eventually finds the kitchen and switches on the light.

He has no idea what his parents are on about, this place is huge. No contest to the one back home, but judging by the limo ride here, this house is easily ten times bigger than the ones on the streets.

As the kettle warms up, Zayn flicks through his phone and waits for it to call. He only has to wait for one ring until a familiar voice flows through his speaker.

“Mate! You’ve landed? How is it? How’s the house? Is it cold as fuck?”

“Hey, man,” Zayn smiles sleepily, perked up from Niall’s enthusiasm, “We landed ‘bout… Fourteen hours ago, I think? I slept that whole time.” Niall chuckles softly and mumbles something about that being no surprise. “And, yeah, it’s alright I guess, the house is huge, and it’s freezing.”

And like on cue, the kettle reaches its boiling point just as Zayn shivers.

He places Niall on loudspeaker and puts the phone on the bench as he makes his tea.

“Where are you staying?” Niall asks, the noises in the background from before dimming. His voice echoes, so Zayn assumes he’s in the bathroom.

“Manchester.” Zayn coughs. He braces himself for what’s coming.

“Dude,” Niall says with realisation, “Louis attends Manchester Uni. It’s fuckin’ fate!”

He rolls his eyes. He can picture Niall with his gaping mouth and wide-eyes, waiting for a reaction.

“Fuck off, Niall.” Zayn says with the smallest hint of a laugh, “I’m not thinking of him, yeah? Like, I’ve moved on. I have.”

There’s a slight delay in response and Zayn pictures Niall nodding. “Good for you, man.”

~

He wakes up later from a loud, familiar screech that Zayn knows too well. When his senses come to light, he registers the noise and rolls his eyes, Waliyha’s voice piercing him as though he were recovering from a hangover.

“It’s that bloody cold I may as well diagnose myself with hyperthermia. Like, bypass the doctor’s referral completely and go straight to a plastic surgeon to replace my nipples ‘cause they’ve just about fallen off—“

“Waliyha!” His father’s stern voice comes from the kitchen and Zayn can’t help but laugh into his jumper.

“What?” She snaps back, “I’m allowed to complain. Aren’t you absolutely covered in goose bumps? We didn’t grow up in Antarctica, how am I supposed to survive…” Her voice trails as she exits the room and into the kitchen to talk their father’s ears off.

Zayn notices he himself is shivering on the couch, the television on mute still on from where he had stayed up for another two hours before passing out again. He finds the blanket on the arm chair on the other side of the room and throws it over his shoulders, teeth chattering.

When he walks towards the kitchen he can hear his father speaking.

“—The heating guys are coming in an hour. The ducted heating is obviously not working as well as it should.”

“Or maybe,” Doniya chips in as she butters her toast, “We’re all wusses because we just came from Australia. It’s probably England’s hottest day.”

Waliyha snorts, “Doubtful.”

“Do we have coffee?” Zayn mumbles as he rubs at his eye. His family turn to him, probably surprised to see him awake so early.

“I think some could be in one of those smaller boxes.” His mother replies, nodding her head towards the empty room where all the unpacked boxes lay.

Zayn looks at them and heaves a sigh. He feels like he had just finished unpacking the last of their boxes at their old house.

“Why don’t you go for a walk around town and buy something from the shops instead?” His father suggests. Zayn can see Safaa’s eyes brightening at the idea, her head nodding furiously. “Would be a good chance to get to know the area.”

And so, with a lot of persistence, Zayn’s out the door with Safaa close to his side, skipping with gum boots on whilst Zayn wills himself not to freeze on the spot. He’s dressed in jeans, a singlet, a t-shirt, a hooded jumper and a leather jacket. Plus a set of gloves and beanie. He might have also put on two pairs of socks, too.

The streets are louder than they were in Zayn’s little town in Australia. There are people crossing paths everywhere he looks, most people nowhere near as rugged up as Zayn and he starts to feel a little stupid. Though, his nose still feels numb and Safaa’s still skipping and holding his hand like it’s the best day she’s ever had so he lives with it.

“Try and find a coffee shop, love.” He tells her and she nods determinedly.

Sure enough, as they reach a corner of stores there’s a quaint coffee shop that doesn’t look too crowded despite the other shops over-filling.

He nudges them both towards it and enters the room where the bell rings to announce their arrival. The heat hits him straight away and he lets go of Safaa’s hand to shrug off his jacket. There’s a small queue of two or three people so they line up, giving them both a chance to look at the chalkboard menu written on the wall.

The smell of coffee has the power to wake him up instantly, and he breathes it in. The boy behind the counter has a mop of hair and a beaming smile fit for customer service. He wishes the customer well, then turns his attention to Zayn and Safaa who are next in line.

“Uh, hi,” Zayn greets, keeping his eyes on the menu, “I’ll just get a black coffee, no sugar, and she’ll get…”

“A slice of banana cake please.” Safaa asks politely, leaning her arms against the counter.

The boy smiles wider, if that were possible, and looks between them. “You guys are from Australia, right?” He asks, recognising the accent. Safaa nods enthusiastically. “Cool! My boyfriend’s from there, I love his accent. I make him say all these words just so I can hear it in his voice.”

The boy, (Harry—Zayn’s learnt from looking at his nametag) punches in their order on the register and Zayn clears his throat.

“Yeah, we just moved here yesterday, like, s’bit daunting.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle and his eyebrows rise, “No way, really? I promise it’s not always this gloomy. D’you know your way around yet?”

“This is our first shop!” Safaa beams, proud.

Harry fake gasps and leans down so he’s eye-level with her, “I feel so privileged! You made a fantastic choice.” Safaa giggles and Zayn can’t help but smile a little at the interaction. Harry turns his attention back to Zayn, standing up to his full height. “Did you want some help getting around, then?”

Zayn hesitates. His mind goes back to getting shown the school, the skate park, the town… He remembers the nervousness he felt but the overwhelmingly calmness at the same time, how conversations flowed easy, like he wanted to give everything to him as soon as Louis started to open up to him—

Though, his expression must have showed something entirely different because Harry starts to backtrack.

“Oops, uh. Sorry if that was a bit creepy. But, like, I’ve lived here my whole life and know pretty much everyone and have been everywhere—“

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” Zayn stops him, smiling.

Harry blinks, then his smile grows. They exchange numbers and Zayn walks home with a warm belly and new plans.

~

He spends an hour or two watching (or, trying to, at least) television while the heater guys yell commands at each other through the walls. He’s just about to take another sip of his lemonade when his phone buzzes from underneath him.

He reaches to take it out of his back pocket and sees that it’s from Harry, the boy from the coffee shop.

Harry (England dude) Just finished my shift! Are you free now?

They decide to meet out the front of the shop. When Zayn gets there, Harry’s already leaning up against the closed building with his head buried in his phone. His eyes pick up to meet Zayn’s and he beams at him.

“Hey, man!” He greets, already guiding him to the right, where the footpath opens up to a circle of stores. Zayn only gets to smile in reply before Harry starts, “So, this is where I get all my shit, basically. The clothes, food, everything. Like, it’s all here in this tiny circle. You could get a train and go out into the city and to the centres and all that but we’re not about to do that… Unless you want to?”

“Uh, no.” Zayn shakes his head, “Here’s fine.”

“Yeah, good. ‘Cause I reckon that’s a waste of time. Anyway, here’s where I get my hair done, I don’t go often, obviously.” Harry snorts, then turns to Zayn, “Look, it’s almost passed my shoulders!”

Harry bounces the palms of his hands at the end of his locks and Zayn chuckles at him, Harry’s eyes so excited and proud of his efforts.

“How long did that take?”

“Oh, shit. Like, two? Two or three years?” He ends up shrugging and continues to walk, Zayn having to speed up to keep in line with this boy’s giraffe legs.

Harry ends up giving him the shortest tour of all time. He talks more about everything else other than Manchester and Zayn doesn’t mind at all. He asks Zayn about himself and looks genuinely interested in what he has to say. He asks him to say different, random words like he does with his Australian boyfriend and they both laugh at each of their stupid phrases. Eventually, Harry announces that he’s peckish and Zayn agrees, Harry leading them to a nearby fast food joint.

“Hey, you know what’ll be good for you?” Harry asks, wiping mustard off the side of his mouth.

“Mm? What’s that?” Zayn flicks his chips around with his fingers, trying to find a nice one.

“I’m having a little gathering tomorrow,” He pauses, frowns, and tilts his head to the side, “Wait, it’s Friday today, yeah?”

Zayn nods slow, “Yes.”

“Right, yeah. Tomorrow night.” Harry continues, “It’s just a few locals, you know? I reckon that’d be a good chance for you to meet people and all that.”

Zayn ends up agreeing. Old Zayn would have made up some excuse, said he was going somewhere else or had to do something. Old Zayn would have cut this entire outing short, said he had to go home early to mind the girls, do homework, fly to the moon. But New Zayn, the one that’s moved to a completely different country, the one that willed himself to have a new start, said yes to a gathering hosted by a person he’s just met with people he’s never seen before.

Zayn takes in a long breath as Harry excitedly tells him the details.

~

It’s the night of the gathering and Zayn’s shitting himself. He’s fiddled with his hair more times than anyone could be bothered to count and he’s questioned his outfit more than what could be considered healthy.

He second guesses the evening and thinks that it will be a lot better if he did not go. He voices as much to Niall, who’s calmly eating noddles on his computer screen.

“If you don’t go, you’ll regret it then cry to me afterwards about how much of a wanker you are.” Niall states matter-of-factly. He slurps his noddles as he looks Zayn dead in the eye, wagging his eyebrows up and down once.

“But if I go—“

“If you go, you can always sneak out and go back home. Or, you know,” Niall widens his eyes like it’s the best idea ever, “You might actually, dare I say it, enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Zayn tells him, poking his tongue out and throwing a pair of socks at the webcam.

“You look handsome, sexy, god-like,” Niall lists off dreamily. If Zayn could smack him, he would. “You’ll be fine. And, hey, maybe you’ll even find a new and improved lover boy.”

Zayn shuts off Skype before the sounds of Niall kissing torments him for life.

~

He hears the music pounding before he even turns down the street. His heart starts to speed up, the road is decked out in cars, there are people out in the front lawn, the silhouettes of people crowd the windows and the noise is louder than the cheers at graduation.

“Little gathering my ass.” Zayn mumbles as he parks his car on the other side of the road. He flips down his mirror and checks his hair once more before taking in a few breaths. He’ll find Harry and it’ll be fine. He’ll get beyond drunk and it’ll be fine.

He walks across the road—well, almost runs due to the cold—and reaches the door. He pulls it open without a second thought, knowing a doorbell couldn’t override the sound. He strolls into the small house and finds people more or less lounging around, laughing and chatting and drinking. He didn’t know what he expected, maybe a dancefloor or two? Or people making out wherever he looked? Though, he isn’t in high school anymore, after all.

“Zayn, you made it!”

A familiar voice makes him spin around, almost colliding into the tall boy. Harry braces him and chuckles.

Zayn shrugs, “Here I am.”

“Sorry about the noise,” Harry says, looking around, “The event sort of got out of hand.”

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, smirking, “These aren’t a few locals?”

Harry’s head throws back as he laughs loudly. His cheeks are flushed, eyes a little glazed and Zayn realises Harry’s on the way to passing out soon.

“What are you drinking?” Zayn cocks his head to the concoction in Harry’s cup.

“Oh, just a little something. I actually—uh, don’t really know…” He peeks into the cup, one eye closing so he can get a better look as though he’d be able to differentiate the distinctive liquids.

Zayn laughs into the back of his hand, shaking his head.

Harry’s swaying slightly, shifting his weight on one foot to the other, eyebrows frowning slightly as his expression turns oddly and cutely serious.

“That’s not how you drink it, Harry.” A boy comes up beside him, slapping him on the back.

Harry grins wildly and throws an arm around the boy’s shoulders and kisses him on the head.

“Zayn, this here is Liam.”

Zayn shakes Liam’s hand. “Hey, Liam.” He points to Harry, “Are you the boyfriend?”

They both laugh. Liam looks down at his shoes and Harry snorts at some point. Zayn looks between them with one eyebrow cocked, confused.

“Liam wishes!” Harry barks out. Liam slaps him in the gut but Harry’s too drunk to feel it. “No, my boyfriend is over…” He spins quickly so he’s on Zayn’s side and throws his arm over his shoulders, weight bearing onto him. Zayn stumbles a little and has to regain his balance before he can see where his finger’s pointing. “Over there, by the kitchen. He’s probably trying to out-drink everyone, as always.”

Zayn can’t see anyone but a woman with big, beautiful hair in the direction where Harry’s referring to. He can smell Harry’s breath and can certainly tell that he’s drinking tequila.

“He’s the smallish one with the dark hair, blue eyes. Oops!” Harry hiccups, “He’ll kill me ‘cause I said he’s smallish. Oh! The one that just cheered like a maniac. See?”

At that, the woman with the big hair moves away with her friend to reveal the person in question.

The boy’s not facing them, but he doesn’t have to. The sight goes straight to Zayn’s stomach.

Harry’s still talking but his voice sounds like it’s muffled underwater. Everything around him dims—the lights, the noise, the atmosphere—and when Louis turns around Zayn stops breathing.

He’s here. Louis’ here and he’s happy and smiling and loud and beautiful and everything like how he remembers. He’s there, mixing a drink for a girl and he’s looking at her with bright eyes and cheeky smile and Zayn wants to die.

It’s like his stomach’s dropped to the pit off the earth, creating a hole through Harry’s floor from the weight of it; and if the ground concaves and swallows him whole then his prayers at that moment would have been answered.

He can’t take his eyes off of him but he knows that he has to because the events that could follow if Louis looks up and catches him staring would be disastrous and full of even more pain. So, he yanks his eyes away, but when he does he wishes he didn’t because his attention turns to Harry who’s looking at Louis with immense admiration and so full of love and—

Louis’ taken. He has a fucking boyfriend who happens to be the nicest most lovable person Zayn’s ever met. Of course he is.

And Zayn hasn’t even had a sip of alcohol yet he feels like he’s about to throw up all over Harry’s floor.

Why the fuck did Niall say this was a good idea.

“Come, I’ll introduce you!”

And then the world comes back to light and Zayn can hear everything again. It’s like a rush to his ears and he’s never felt so overwhelmed. He can feel Liam’s sober eyes boring into him with worry and Zayn does not need this.

“Uh, actually, can I use the toilet first?” Zayn asks, managing to string a coherent sentence together. Excuses are his thing.

Liam gives him directions whilst Harry stares dopey eyed at his boyfriend and Zayn nods his thanks before darting away as quick as possible.

He walks towards the corridor, before waiting for the crowd around him to thicken. Then he exits like a criminal on the run, gaining so many looks but not an inch of him cares.

And for the first time, the cold air that was once a curse hits him like relief.

Zayn lost him. He let the one spark that made him feel the most alive go like a leaf in the wind. He didn’t fight for him, didn’t beg him to stay, didn’t hang onto every minute they had together and didn’t even send him off with a proper good-bye. They could’ve had a chance; Zayn could’ve tried long-distance. He had the goddamn money, he had the time… But none of that matters anymore.

Louis’ moved on. He’s probably happier than he’s ever been. He’s getting a degree, he’s got a tonne of friends, and he’s in a relationship with a boy Zayn couldn’t compete with even if he tried.

He storms across the lawn and enters his car, slamming the door behind him. He presses his forehead against the steering wheel and shuts his eyes.

His own words flow through his ears, “I’m not thinking of him… I’ve moved on” and it makes this whole entire thing so much worse. Because he spent all that time and all that effort on making a conscious decision to push every little thought and emotion about that boy away, only for it to be entirely abolished and turned to shit from one simple two-second glance.

How is that possible? How can one person have these many chains around Zayn’s heart?

With a frustrated grown, he punches the steering wheel with full force, making his knuckles sting but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care.

He hangs his head the same time his phone echoes throughout the car. Letting out an angry breath, he checks his phone and immediately wants to cry.

Harry (England dude) Loui s wants 2 meet u!!! come kitchen when ur done xxx

And so Zayn deletes his number. Because yes, he is that sad of a person and yes, he does care.

~

When he wakes, he has 5 texts. One is from Niall, the other four are from an unknown number. Zayn slides open the unknown thread.

12:56am: R U OKKKK ??????????????? 1:24am: Lima said he likeeees u haha 1:25am: No he didn’t 1:25am: YES HE

The last text is cut off; Zayn assumes it was because Liam stole it out of Harry’s hand before it could be finished. He processes the words through sleepy eyes and his head results with two thoughts:

Liam likes him. Huh. Despite his spiralling emotions from last night, he actually feels guilty for leaving without notice.

So, he comes up some bullshit excuse of why he had to leave and sends it to Harry, hoping that Louis didn’t think that Zayn saw him and legged it. He opens the other text from Niall.

The Dirty Irish Man Howd it go?!?!

He considers taking the angle of blame and thrashing Niall with abuse for convincing him to go, to endure that shit storm. But, after getting home and getting into bed being unable to sleep, he had to think. Maybe it was a blessing that he saw him. Now that he knows Louis’ perfectly happy, Zayn can actually accept it and get the fuck over him. Finally.

I met this boy Liam.. Is what he texts back. The flood of spam that follows was to be expected, complete with capitals and a generous amount of shocked emojis and demands.

It produces a small laugh from Zayn.

~

Two weeks later and Zayn’s finally, officially moved into his family’s permanent home. Safe to say, it’s fucking huge.

Larger than their one on the other side of the world, a lot bigger than their temporary home.

“Mum and dad must be raking in some serious cash to afford this lot.” Zayn mutters to Waliyha one night, a deck of cards between them after a finished game of Snap.

“I dunno,” Waliyha shrugs one shoulder, picking up the cards and shuffling them, “This one doesn’t have a pool so I think we’ve downgraded.”

Zayn snorts, “Could you imagine swimming in weather this cold?”

She makes a disgusted face, “I fucking miss our old house.”

“Yeah,” Zayn replies without hesitation, “Me too.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Waliyha doesn’t move. He’s expecting a call from Niall, so he answers it straight away as he stands up.

“Niall, hey.”

“Uhh, this isn’t Niall. Is my phone on private? Shit.”

Zayn swallows. It’s Harry.

They had been texting on and off for the past 14 days, Harry having forgiven Zayn and accepting Zayn’s shit excuse. Which followed by other excuses. Until now.

“Oh, Harry.” Zayn says, and Waliyha looks up in question, “No, you’re all good, I just picked up without answering. Was, uh, expecting a call.”

“I can call back later? If that’s—“

“No, no. Don’t worry ‘bout it. He can wait.”

Harry clears his throat. “Yeah? Okay. Well, today’s the day you finish moving in, isn’t it?”

Zayn spins around. He doesn’t know why he does. “Sure is.”

“Great! So… That means you’re free, yeah?”

And, shit. That was Zayn’s only excuse, that he was ‘too busy moving houses’ to have this group catch-up shit that Harry’s been raving on about. If it were him and Liam and another guy that was good company, then Zayn would be more than keen to go. But it’s Harry, Zayn, Liam… And Louis. Which isn’t good company.

“Mm hmm.” Zayn says, his eyes squeezed shut. When he opens them, the glare telling him that he’s the weirdest person they’ve laid eyes on comes from a very suited Waliyha. “It does.”

Harry proceeds to tell him the details. At Harry’s house, 7pm. He doesn’t need to bring anything and he’s allowed to stay the night if he wishes. Fat chance.

“Great!” Zayn says with as much enthusiasm as he can. Waliyha facepalms. “I’ll see you there.”

As soon as he hangs up he puts his head in his hands and groans like an insane human.

“Maybe mum was right,” Waliyha starts, “Maybe we should’ve put you in social-coping classes.”

Zayn picks his head up and looks at her, “You know that party I went to, like, two weeks ago? Yeah, well, Louis was there.”

Her eyes pick up a sort of brightness that scares Zayn a little.

“His boyfriend is also the dude we met at the coffee house.” He adds, and her eyes dim back to that melancholy glare, “And now that guy, Harry, wants to hang out this evening as well as Louis.”

“What? You’re gonna third wheel?” She looks at him like he’s the most fucked up person she’s ever met. And from what Zayn’s heard from all her complaining during school years, she’s met a lot of fucked up people.

“No, not really. Liam will be there.”

“Has Liam got a boyfriend?”

“No, but—“

“Then your problem’s solved.” Waliyha shrugs and stands, ready to leave the room, “But don’t wear that sweater. Makes you look like you’ve aged fifty years.”

Zayn looks down at his clothes and frowns. Damn.

~

He rocks up at about quarter past seven, donned in black ripped jeans, a grey hooded jumper and a leather jacket—something much approved from his little sister, at least.

The walk up Harry’s drive-way and to his front door is a somewhat calm stroll. And if it weren’t for the people inside or the situation at this very moment, Zayn wouldn’t have second-guessed this for a second. But because the people inside contain someone Zayn should be extremely nervous about—and the fact that they will have to have a conversation and they will have to spent the next unknown hours together—and Zayn isn’t freaking out like the first time he pulled up?

Well, he must have reached some sort of new emotional level that his brain doesn’t know how to deal with.

“Zayn!”

He’s brought back out of his trance with a fright and plasters on a smile as soon as he locks eyes with Harry, who is very much sober this time.

“Hey, Harry,” He says, “I bought you, uh, these,” He hands the four-pack of beers over, “It’s sort of like a sorry gift? I guess? For leaving so early.”

“Shit, thanks man!” Harry beams, delighted, “You didn’t have to do that! Come inside, it’s freezing out here.”

Zayn shuffles inside as Harry shuts the door behind him. The house is so lovely, a real home-vibe that radiates off it, all these personalised furniture pieces and photos, and for some reason—despite not knowing him too well—it just screams Harry.

“Everyone’s in the living room,” Harry leads after placing the beers in the fridge, “I think the boys are playing Mario Kart. They’re such children.”

“Oh, and you’re so mature?” Zayn imitates him, pretending to squint into a cup, “What’s in my drink again?”

At that, Harry barks out an unexpected laugh and Zayn follows. Harry even claps at some point with his head thrown back.

“I didn’t do that, did I?” Harry grabs at Zayn’s forearm when he doubles over, needing support.

“No, you really, really, did.”

They bustle into the living room with grins plastered on their faces and Harry’s laugh echoing through the room, Zayn can’t stop looking at the effect he has on Harry. Honestly, he never thought he was this funny.

“What are you laughing at, you big—” Louis’ voice falters when he locks eyes on the two. The screen showing that someone had won the race. He takes Zayn in and Zayn’s smile drops completely.

“God, Lou, honestly,” Harry shakes his head, still grinning, “You would love this guy. Almost takes the cake for being the funniest here, I swear.”

Zayn’s stomach twists at the word ‘love’. It does a twist, ties itself in multiple knots, then does a couple of backflips just for the sake of making him feel queasy.

“Hey, Zayn.”

Zayn’s eyes blink from where Louis’ eyeing off Harry’s hand on Zayn’s forearm and looks to Liam, who’s smiling up beautifully at him.

“Hey, Liam.” He gestures to the game, “Did you win?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, Louis’ unbeatable.”

“That I am, Payno.” Louis smiles with villain-like tendencies in his eyes, slapping him on the back. And in a blink of an eye, Zayn’s flashbacked to last year. “Though, I’ve had enough. Want a turn, babe?”

Zayn opens his mouth to respond, but it’s Harry’s voice that comes, “Yessss!”

And, blink, right back to reality.

“Did you want a turn, Zayn?” Liam asks him, handing out the controller.

Zayn shakes his head, “Nah, I’ll have a turn after, maybe.”

So, Zayn sits on the couch behind everyone else. Even Louis, because apparently it’s necessary to cuddle up to your boyfriend on the floor and whisper words of encouragement to him for a fucking video game.

Maybe he should have bought those beers for himself.

He speaks too soon, though, because as his attention shifts to his phone, the couch shifts in weight and Louis’ sitting next to him. There’s, like, a person-width between them, but still.

“Hey,” Louis says, softly, “How’ve you been?”

Zayn locks his phone and doesn’t lock eyes with Louis. Knows that if he does, it’ll make this whole thing a lot harder than it needs to be.

“Good, good. How’s uni?”

“Shit.” Louis says with a small laugh. Zayn smiles.

There’s a short lull in conversation as they both focus on the race. Liam’s in the lead and Harry just fell off Rainbow Road again. He’s coming last.

“This is, uh, okay, yeah?” Louis asks, softer than before, a little unsure. Zayn wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want Harry finding out about their history. And as if Zayn didn’t know what he was referring to, Louis still points back and forth between himself and Harry.

“Yeah, of course.” Zayn says automatically. “I mean; it’s been a year.”

Louis’ gaze drops a little, and he does that thing with his eyebrows where he frowns just a tiny bit to show a slight crinkle before it disappears, showing that he’s half confused, half sad but doesn’t want anybody to know.

Which is… Weird. Zayn didn’t say anything to make him feel that way. Does he want it to not be okay?

“WOO!” Liam hoots with victory from where he’s sitting on the floor, Harry laughing at his own pathetic attempt of winning.

Louis, quickly recovered, slides down onto the floor and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek, telling him he did well. Zayn, positively, needs a bucket.

And as though Liam read minds, he turns to him and says, “Do you smoke?”

~

The front porch is a lot less quiet than the one at his old home, their street is almost never empty, as though it were a main road. It gives Zayn a lot less opportunity to think, but who needs to think when he’s got Liam?

They speak about Zayn’s hometown, how he just graduated, the dilemmas of the future, Liam’s academic success in university, how he was kicked out and forced to find his own apartment, how he and Harry met. The conversation goes for as long as two cigarettes—neither mention Louis.

They ash out their remnants and lean back against the porch fence, facing the huge window that peeks into Harry’s living room. He looks over towards Liam, his profile a beautiful thing to have beside him.

He feels as though Liam’s the type that has the most kindest, innocent eyes that anyone could ever have, yet in a nanosecond his expression could change into someone that looks like they could kill with their bare hands. Zayn respects that.

“I hope you continue to hang out with us,” Liam says, turning to him, “And I say that in the least desperate way possible.”

Zayn lets out a laugh, “Tired of third-wheeling?”

“Man, you have no idea.”

They turn towards the window again as something flashes in Zayn’s peripheral. He realises it’s a hand, and then an arm, and then Louis is walking into the living room, Harry hot on his heels. They’re talking to each other, Louis with a smirk on his face and Harry (pretending?) to plead.

Then Louis spins on his heel, grabs Harry by the collar, and kisses him. Harry doesn’t hesitate and lifts Louis up, hands immediately finding Louis’ ass.

Zayn takes in a deep breath and turns around, facing the street.

“Yeah, I’ll save you from that shit.” Zayn replies, a headache suddenly forming.

Liam chuckles, “My saviour.”

~

“Niall, why am I the most pathetic and fucked up dude on planet Earth?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for fifteen months.”

Zayn lets out a groan and collapses on his bed, phone held to his ear.

“Whenever I’m with them I always see Harry and Louis like… doing shit. And Louis always tries and makes sure I don’t see but, like, he’s not doing a very good job.”

Zayn’s been hanging out with their group for about a week, seeing them almost every day and doing mostly fuck all except talk shit and drink beer. It’s nice, though. When Louis and Harry aren’t all over each other, that is.

“Then why do you see them?” Niall asks, the sounds of water splashing from the pool around him filling the background noise.

“I’m preventing Liam from turning insane.” Zayn answers, like it’s the obvious reason.

“Zayn, c’mon.”

He should’ve known better than to lie, honestly. Niall could detect it through Morse code.

“It’s the only time I get to see Louis.”

And, wow. Hearing it out loud makes Zayn feel as small as he sounds.

“Damn. That really is pathetic.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll work it out, though. Liam seems like a top bloke and you haven’t called me crying yet so it can’t be all bad.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and groans again. So this is his life now.

~

They’re at Liam’s tonight, and it’s a ‘movie night’ of sorts. Zayn’s been here for a whole of two hours and the night has mostly consisted of Harry and Louis bickering over almost everything. It’s a regular occurrence, really, so Zayn’s somewhat accustomed to it and accepted that this must be some sort of weird foreplay thing that they do.

He doesn’t like to think about it.

“You know, it’s your apartment,” Zayn tells Liam as he hands over a beer and sits next to him on the two-seater couch, “You could just pick a movie and tell them to deal with it.”

“True,” Liam says, opening both their bottles, “But where’s the fun in that?”

Zayn gives him a look that says touché, and they both sip their beers.

“Okay, tell me what you think is more logical.” Louis announces, barging in from the kitchen, Harry behind him, “Curly here thinks it’s a good idea to watch a comedy first and then a horror film, while I think it’s better to watch the horror first and then a comedy.”

“But what if the horror movie’s really scary?” Harry questions, hands gesturing everywhere.

“That’s why you watch it first! So when you sleep, you remember the comedy instead.”

Harry shakes his head, “Nope, I always remember the first one the most.”

“Because you always fall asleep before the second one!” Louis argues, voice raising slightly in pitch.

Liam and Zayn both laugh quietly at the show before them. Zayn doesn’t realise how close they’ve gotten until they look at each other and Liam rolls his eyes.

“What do you think, Zayn?” Harry asks.

Zayn looks away from Liam and immediately feels Louis eyes burning through him at their close contact. It’s intimidating to say the least.

“Uh, I mean, do we have to watch a horror and a comedy?”

“Yes.” Louis says, arms folded.

“Well—“ Liam begins.

“That’s how it’s always been.” Louis interrupts.

Zayn looks at Louis and Louis stares back, hard. Zayn adverts his gaze and focuses on his bottle instead.

“We could watch something else, Lou. Like—“ Harry suggests, but shuts up as soon as Louis shoots daggers at him.

“Yeah, alright,” Liam nods, then pats Zayn on the knee twice, “It can be your pick.”

Zayn smiles at him and proceeds to scroll through Netflix, trying to hide the smirk that’s threatening to show as Louis huffs and sits on Harry’s lap. Knowing how much Louis hates losing and winning against him in a situation as petty as this gives Zayn the oddest sensation of satisfaction.

He picks a movie, the action kind and something that Zayn’s been dying to see as soon as he heard that it was out. They get the snacks ready and some beers and they get comfortable—Zayn and Liam on the couch and Louis and Harry on the armchair. Louis has direct view of Zayn and Zayn doesn’t know if that makes him anxious or something else.

Zayn clears his head immediately. He is not thinking about how Louis makes him feel things.

The opening credits roll and Liam and he share a bowl of popcorn. A few minutes in, their fingers bump and they look at each other, both smiling. When Zayn turns his attention back to the movie, he feels a set of eyes on him. Zayn gulps, almost feeling like he should be guilty of something.

Then he hears whispering and Zayn turns to the couple, Louis with his hand cupped around Harry’s head to pull him closer while Louis whispers something that really could have been less intimate than that. Harry lets out a tiny giggle and Louis’ eyes lock onto Zayn’s, a smirk on his lips.

Zayn has to look away because is Louis turning this into some kind of game?

He decides to test the waters. It’s only Louis being Louis, he’s not about to one-up Zayn every time he and Liam do something mildly flirtatious, surely. Though, it is a game Louis knows he’s sure to win, so.

When the popcorn is finished, Zayn takes it upon himself and places it on the coffee table. When he sits back down, he sits a little closer to Liam, knowing Louis’ tracking his every move. It’s not enough, though, so Zayn lifts his arm up and places it on the back of the couch, behind Liam’s extremely oblivious head.

He hears a small gasp belonging to Louis and this time it’s Zayn’s turn to smirk. It’s on.

Louis places his hand under Harry’s shirt. Zayn compliments Liam on his hair and Liam blushes. Louis adjusts his position on Harry’s lap and kisses underneath his ear. Zayn drops his hand so it lands comfortably on Liam’s shoulder.

When Liam turns to Zayn and smiles giddily, Louis’ eyes darken.

He presses a kiss straight to Harry’s lips and Harry kisses back for a few seconds before parting, “Hang on, Lou. Later.” When Louis gives him an affronted look, Harry tacks on, “This is a really good part!”

With an eye roll, Louis slumps against the chair and diverts his attention straight to the T.V, not even chancing a look at Zayn. He almost wants to get up and do a victory dance of sorts, but then Liam’s shifting a little closer and putting his head on Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn sort of melts into it, letting himself enjoy the company.

~

They had exchanged numbers after that, he and Liam. Truth is, they get along really well and Liam’s been nothing but amazing this whole time. Maybe Niall and Waliyha were right, Liam could be good for him.

They have a party tonight; someone Louis knows from university that he had invited them all to. It’s his first party in England and he doesn’t know whether to dress with a thousand layers or pray that the alcohol warms him enough that the air doesn’t give him the flu.

He had bought an outfit specifically for the night, so at least he wasn’t constantly changing like that time before he went over to Harry’s for the very first time. He decides to leave the outfit as is, telling himself that he’ll huddle inside if the cold gets that bad, or maybe he’ll pinch Liam’s jacket.

He pictures Louis’ face, witnessing that, and actually laughs out loud.

It’s been three days since their little unspoken ‘game’. They didn’t talk much after it, like they usually do. They don’t talk at all, really, when they’re together. It’s more of a who-can-keep-themselves-busy-the-most-so-they-don’t-have-to-make-conversation type of thing. It sucks, yeah, but Zayn admits to himself that if they were ever alone and forced to talk Zayn would be furiously torn between wanting to kiss or fight the shit out of him the entire time.

It’s a love/hate non-relationship. Basically.

He hears a toot from the car waiting for him outside. Zayn grabs his phone and makes his way down the stairs, greeting Harry when he gets inside the car. They had agreed to go together since Harry had been working and Zayn didn’t want to go alone.

Harry smiles at him, “Hey, sexy.”

Zayn chuckles, “Hey, Harry.”

“I don’t understand how you’re single, man,” Harry says after he gives Zayn a once-over, then starts the car and starts to drive, “I really don’t.”

Zayn shrugs, “Not looking for anyone, to be honest.”

“Yeah? What about Liam?”

They share a glance and Zayn frowns a little, “Uhh—“

“I’m not blind,” Harry laughs, “I’ve seen you guys get cosy multiple times.”

Zayn shrugs again, “Liam’s cool.”

“Yeah, well. Louis doesn’t think you’d work as a couple, but I do. Besides, Louis doesn’t even know you that well, he’s clueless.”

A fire-like sensation fills Zayn’s belly at the thought of Louis talking about him. It makes him feel nervous, almost. Giddy. He also wants to tell Harry that Louis does know him, actually. Knows him better than anyone.

Yet they’re strangers.

“I hear tonight’s supposed to go off, like, Project X type of shit.” Harry continues, Zayn zoning back into conversation. “University parties are usually wild but the guy hosting, Tyler, is a nutcase.”

“Really?” Zayn asks.

Harry continues to fill Zayn in on how his other parties have ended and how Tyler almost got arrested at one. Zayn’s half listening, half zoned out, his mind elsewhere.

If Louis’ talking about Zayn when he’s not there, then Louis must be thinking about him, too. Did he bring up the conversation? Does he usually talk about Zayn? Why is he so opinionated about Zayn’s potential relationship, anyway? Does that mean he still has feelings for him?

Zayn shakes his head, ridding the thoughts immediately.

They pull up to the house which is, sure enough, already looking out of control. There are people splayed out on the grass in the front lawn, either passed out with bottles in their hands or taking a breather, there’s a guy leaning against the mailbox with two girls latched onto his neck, and, is that… Is that a guy peeing off the balcony?

“Wow. You weren’t lying.” Zayn tells Harry.

They get out of the car and Zayn tries to stay as close to Harry as possible, not knowing what he would do if they separated and Zayn was alone. But upon entering the house, Zayn knew it’ll be inevitable. The place was beyond packed, and the noise was a shock to Zayn’s ears. People were shouting like they do in night-clubs, the music was pounding through the speakers and there were people singing over the top of it. Now he knows why Louis snickered when Zayn asked if Tyler would mind that he was being invited.

“Let’s grab a drink,” Harry shouts to him, gesturing over to one side of the room. Zayn nods his head and Harry leads the way.

They reach an almost empty punch bowl, a tray of jelly shots that surprisingly isn’t empty, a thousand plastic cups and an endless supply of alcohol and soda.

“Jesus,” Zayn comments, leaning in to Harry to be heard, “How do they afford all this shit?”

Harry shrugs, “A lot of people chip in.” He grabs two spotless cups, rinses them just in case, and moves over to the spirits, “Vodka or tequila?”

“Uh,” Zayn scratches behind his ear, “Vodka.”

Harry smiles and pours a generous amount into his cup, filling the rest of the cup with coke. He hands it to Zayn.

“Enjoy.”

Zayn nods, “Thanks.” When he takes a sip, he winces.

As Harry fixes his own drink, Louis comes out of nowhere and pinches Harry’s bum before kissing him hello. By the way his fringe is half matted across his forehead, his cheeks are slightly pink and his eyes bright with a beaming smile—Zayn knows he’s very well drunk.

Louis and Harry share a few words and Zayn tries not to notice, sipping his disgustingly strong drink and looking at the scene of dancing bodies around him. Harry gestures towards Zayn and Louis looks at him for a few seconds, swaying.

Zayn thinks he might square in on him and finally have the guts to say a word or two in his intoxicated state. But, instead, his eyes flash with something else and he waves to him stupidly.

“Hi, Zaynie.”

Zayn takes in a deep breath at the nickname. Louis smiles dumbly at him, his hair in different directions, his lips red from drinking, his voice hoarse from shouting over everyone, his body swaying subconsciously to the music and it’s just. It’s too fucking cute and way too goddamn familiar and Zayn sort of can’t feel his heart beating at all.

“Hi,” He manages to choke out, but Louis’ already turned back to Harry.

He looks back down at his drink, cringes for what he’s about to do, and tips it back into his mouth. The burn lasts longer than he thought possible and he almost gags, but it warms up his entire body instantly.

“Shit, man.” Harry laughs at him, “Eager, are we?”

Zayn coughs, walking over to the drinks bench, “Could say that.”

He picks up the vodka again and pours some into his cup, aiming for a smaller amount this time.

“Let’s dance, babe.” Louis says with a giggle as he pulls Harry away.

Zayn pours in more vodka.

~

He finds himself in a circle outside with a bunch of people he’s never met, passing around a spliff he doesn’t know who made and is speaking about things he doesn’t understand.

“D’you guys remember when Jonno fuckin’ tried to flip off the roof and broke his ankle?” One of the boys say, laughing out loud like a walrus.

Zayn laughs, too, despite the fact that he doesn’t know Jonno or wasn’t there. But his mind’s a field of fog and he feels like he’s floating, so much so that if he stood, he doesn’t think he’d last very long.

He feels a vibration in his pocket and he hums softly at the sensation. Pulling out his phone, his eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the screen. It’s from Liam.

Where are uuu??????

Zayn attempts to type out a reply, he’s pretty sure it says: Outside; but it could be entirely different when he wakes up tomorrow morning.

The spliff ends up between his fingers again and it looks a lot bigger than the last time round. It might be a new one, Zayn doesn’t know. They seem to be appearing out of nowhere. He doesn’t ask questions, though, just breathes it in twice and passes it to the girl next to him.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a warm shoulder. It’s nice. Zayn leans into it.

“Hey, mate.” The hand says into his ear. Zayn likes the voice, reminds him of someone sweet.

Zayn turns to it and is met with pretty eyes. Such nice, warm brown eyes. And a smile, wow, what a great smile. Zayn sort of wants to kiss it.

“Liam,” Zayn registers, smiling so his cheeks reach his eyes, “There you are.”

Liam laughs, Zayn closes his eyes at the sound. “There I am?”

Zayn hums in response and opens his eyes to tug at Liam’s waist. He pulls him onto his lap and Liam lets out a surprised sound and laughs, fiddling a bit on Zayn until he’s comfortable, sitting side-on so they’re facing each other.

“You’re so high.” Liam comments, tapping Zayn lightly on the nose with his finger.

“You’re so cute.” Zayn replies, watching fondly as Liam drops his eyes and shakes his head with a modest grin. Zayn places his fingers underneath Liam’s chin and tilts it up so they’re level. “C’mere.”

He brings Liam closer and lets him close the distance. His lips are nice to kiss, Zayn thinks. They’re big, unusual, and Zayn’s unsure how to move against them unlike a set of smaller lips, but Zayn tries to melt into it anyway. Liam’s hand cups his jaw and again, it’s nice, but it’s all so big and rough and so, so foreign. It makes Zayn frown slightly and pull away, but makes sure that his frown’s swiped and a smile’s replaced when Liam opens his eyes to look at him.

Liam’s about to say something when they both hear someone calling out his name. Liam turns around and Zayn follows his gaze, landing on Harry who’s beckoning him over, pointing to his phone.

“Uh,” Liam turns back to Zayn, “Better see what he wants.”

Zayn nods, “I’ll be here.”

Liam leaves and Zayn’s suddenly cold without a body on him. The circle’s dispersed a little, the spliff no longer making its round and everyone around him is either lying on the grass or leaning back in their chairs, unable to move. Zayn laughs a little and gets up from his chair, making his way inside where there’s warmth.

He gets about two steps inside until he’s cornered against a wall.

“You can’t be with him.”

Zayn blinks to make sure he’s not dreaming. Louis’ looking at him as intense as he can with glazed eyes and slurred speech. He’s got a finger pressed against Zayn’s chest, his other hand around a half-empty cup. When Zayn registers his words, he grins.

“Were you watching me, LouLou?”

Louis leans back, finger dropping and his face pulling his best appalled expression. “Shut up, no. I just saw you two—“

“What’d you see us doing?” Zayn smirks, heart thumping from having Louis this close to him, infuriatingly torn from wanting to pull him into his body but can’t.

Louis’ jaw clenches, “Kissing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And it can’t happen, alright?”

Zayn quirks a brow, “Why not, babe?”

“’Cause it’s not… That isn’t…” Louis’ stutters. Zayn smirks from Louis not even flinching at ‘babe’. Louis sighs angrily, not able to get his words out. He looks at Zayn and there’s something different in his eyes. “Do you want it to be with him?”

“I do.” Zayn says without hesitation, watching as Louis’ eyes widen a little, “I like Liam.”

“You… You do?”

Zayn nods, “Mm hmm. He seems sturdy, y’know? Permanent.”

A fire burns behind Louis’ eyes at that last word, his balance wavering as though he’d been shot. But, as always, his expression remains unchanged, fixed like a steel wall and he merely nods.

“Fair enough.” Louis says, then clears his throat. “Have fun with it, then.”

Louis leaves and Zayn watches him go.

~

There’s a gathering in the host’s bathroom. Zayn’s not really sure how it happened but he came to pee then Liam walked in as Zayn was washing his hands and they were talking and another person Liam knew joined them which brought on other people and now there’s about eight different people huddled in the small confides of the bathroom.

Zayn doesn’t bat an eye, though. He had downed another few shots after his short conversation with Louis and he quite honestly can’t even see faces properly anymore.

“Hey,” Liam says as Zayn’s perched on top of the bathroom counter, “Did you wanna go downstairs and dance?”

Zayn looks down at him, it takes him a second to realise his own fingers are caressing mindlessly through Liam’s hair as Liam’s hand rests on Zayn’s knee. Liam’s eyes are slightly glazed, a pink flush flowing through his cheeks and his skin warm.

He smiles widely down at him, “Take me there.”

So, Liam does what he’s told with a shrug and proceeds to lift Zayn off the bench, bridal style. He does it with such ease that Zayn doesn’t even feel like protesting, he just wraps an arm around Liam’s neck and tells everyone in their way to move because “the happy couple are coming through!”

Liam’s laugh shoots through Zayn’s ears every time and Zayn’s cheeks hurt from the smile that he can’t, for the life of him, wipe off. When they approach the stairs, Liam glides down them like a hero, and anyone else would think that he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol the entire night. If Zayn wasn’t so stoned and drunk, he’d ask him how the fuck he does it.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s not fucking dangerous.”

The mumbled voice comes from near the end of the stairs. Zayn turns to it and finds Louis next to Harry, rolling his eyes. Zayn pulls a face, not having the strength to even react further. Liam, thankfully doesn’t hear Louis and soldiers on, completely bypassing Louis and Harry when they reach the end of the stairs—Zayn throws his head back with laughter when he catches Louis’ affronted glare—and makes their way towards the dancefloor.

The song playing is a 90s pop anthem, so when Liam lets Zayn down gently, he’s immediately perked up and dancing. They sing along to the words, screaming at the top of their lungs with giant grins plastered on their faces. Liam starts to jump up and down when the chorus hits and Zayn finds the move interesting so he copies him, making Liam laugh even more.

The song ends and they almost collapse on the floor, out of breath. Liam brings Zayn into a hug and Zayn wraps himself around him, closing his eyes. They stay there swaying for a bit, Zayn’s mind whooshing around like the ocean, the colours behind his eyelids dancing like they were, and if it weren’t for the craziness around him he’d fall asleep.

“I could fall asleep.” Zayn says into Liam’s ear.

“I’d carry you home.” Liam tells him.

Zayn smiles into Liam’s neck and hugs him closer, right before he catches Louis uncrossing his arms and storming out of the house.

~

After a shower, a nap, some paracetamol, a tea and another nap, Zayn considers himself partly cured of the ungodly horror that has been bestowed upon him so graciously. The horror that is his hangover.

Until, that is, his stomach rumbles like it’s screaming bloody murder.

Zayn groans, wrapping an arm around his belly for good measure as he turns on his side in bed. So, he can’t stomach food but his stomach wants food.

He grabs his phone from his bedside table and opens a text to Harry. He asks if he wants to grab lunch. Two seconds later, a response comes through.

Of course! Come meet us as the burger lounge

~

He knew as soon as Harry said ‘us’ that it meant the regular crew. He also didn’t realise the events that happened last night until he was driving there. He rattles them off in order in his head.

Zayn and Liam kissed Louis confronted Zayn about it Zayn and Liam spent most the night together Louis stormed out of the party

So, now, Zayn’s bracing himself for the outwardly awkwardness between the four of them that’s definitely going to occur since they’re all in the same room. And it’s sort of fucking laughable, really, because Liam and Harry are completely unaware of the important history between Louis and Zayn, even though the tension’s already bubbling underneath the surface uncontrollably, ready to spill like lava and burn everything in its sight.

Zayn takes in a deep breath as he parks, trying to make himself only think about food.

It was a good idea, until he locked eyes on Louis.

Harry’s got his head down, scanning the menu with slightly frowned eyebrows so it’s not like Zayn can completely ignore Louis’ stare of death by purely focusing on Harry.

It’s enough to make Zayn gulp. That’s how intimidating the walk from the door to their table is.

He chances another look towards Louis and regrets it straight away. His eyes are burning into him like fire but they’re also as cold as ice. His whole body is stiff, rigid, off. He’s got the beginning of bags forming under his eyes from lack of sleep and a frown that seems all too permanent fixed on his face. His lips are pursed in a straight line and honestly, he looks like the human embodiment of a fuse about to blow.

Zayn sort of curses himself for thinking he still looks cute, though.

“Hey, guys,” Zayn greets, his tone trying to sound as casual as possible.

Harry’s head perks up immediately, “Zayn! How’re you?” He does a once-over as Zayn sits down and Harry scoffs, “Dude, do you ever look shit? Even hungover you look like a fucking runway model.”

Zayn chuckles softly, “Thanks, man. That’s what my friend Niall says. Think you’re both talking shit, though, to be honest.”

Harry shoves Zayn lightly and hands Zayn a menu, “Good luck choosing something to eat, by the way, this menu is the best thing to grace this earth.”

At that, Louis scoffs. Harry takes no notice.

“Uh, alright. What’re you getting?”

Before Harry can respond, Liam sits down next to Zayn.

“Hey, babe,” Liam says, looking like he just had the best sleep of his life.

Zayn smiles at him, “Hey,” He says, unashamedly taking him in, “You look so good.”

“Has everyone decided what they’re ordering? ‘Cause I’m fucking starving.” Louis says, making everyone turn to him.

“Lou,” Harry says, frowning, “Liam just got here.”

“So? Liam knows what he wants, we come here all the time. Right, Liam?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. I’ll just get the spicy one.” Liam decides and Zayn’s eyes brighten.

“Ooh, that sounds good. I want that, too.”

“Then we’re done.” Louis says tightly, collecting all their menus and exiting the booth to go up and order.

Liam and Harry start discussing the party and Zayn wants to take part in it, he does, but. His eyes can’t stop drifting off towards where Louis looks the most miserable Zayn’s ever seen him. He’s not standing straight and with confidence like he used to, he doesn’t have that ever-present gleam in his eye or that smirk on his lips, he’s snapping at everything and doesn’t even party anymore like he used to from what he saw last night and Zayn starts to wonder if he had been like this the entire time and he’s only just realising it now.

God, he wants so bad just to go over to him and squeeze him until he laughs. Wants to smooth away the bags from under his eyes with his thumbs. Wants to go on adventures with him like they used to and talk about whatever came to mind. He wants to see Louis be Louis again, even if that meant only as friends.

“—Ayn?”

Zayn turns his attention to Harry, who’s waiting on him expectantly.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, I didn’t see you much last night, where were you?”

And Zayn has a flicker of a thought about whether Harry even sees Louis the way Zayn sees him right now. If he doesn’t, then that either means Louis has been like this since he moved or that Harry’s just unbelievably oblivious. And, if he does… well, why the fuck isn’t he doing anything about it?

Zayn puts on a faux smile, because that thought alone is enough to put an off taste in his mouth. “With Liam, mostly.”

“We had fun, didn’t we?” Liam says, nudging Zayn.

Zayn nods, “Had no idea you were that strong. What kind of body are you hiding under there, Mr Payne?”

Liam laughs loudly and shakes his head, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Harry wolf whistles as Zayn wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Louis comes back and sits down, uncharacteristically silent. The conversation carries on, but the more Louis glances down at his own hands in his lap the more Zayn finds himself putting on a social mask to hide the gnawing feeling that’s threatening to pull him apart.

~

Liam suggests a poker night at his house. Initially, they had all preferred to go back home and never leave their beds. But, after a good feed, they’re definitely ready for round two.

It’s only a short walk to his house so they don’t bother getting in their cars just yet. Louis and Harry had left earlier and are now a good few metres in front of them. From what Zayn can see, their conversations are more like Harry trying to make Louis smile and Louis refusing entirely. If Harry knew Louis, he’d know that making it look like you’re trying too hard won’t make him laugh at all and that pretending you don’t care whilst simultaneously slipping in quotes from his favourite shows in casual conversation does the trick—or, accidentally (but on purpose) doing something stupid like tripping and hurting yourself never, ever fails.

“Hey, Zayn?”

Zayn whips his head to turn to Liam, so couped up in the people in front of him that he almost forgot Liam was even there. Wow, he needs to get it together, like ASAP.

“Yeah?”

“Can we, like, talk? I mean, I know this isn’t a serious thing between us two. Unless, you thought—?”

“No, I, uh, agree. Like, this is just fun, yeah?” Zayn reassures, a hand coming to rest on Liam’s back, watching as Liam nods.

“Yeah, good. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page and that.”

Harry places an arm around Louis’ shoulders and whispers something in Louis’ ear. Zayn expects an evil glare or a jab to the ribs but instead, Louis’ head falls back and his laughter floats through the air. Zayn frowns a little, maybe he was wrong.

“Can I tell you something?” Zayn asks Liam, glancing down at the pavement, “But you gotta make sure you don’t tell anyone. Especially Harry.”

Liam blinks, initially hesitant, “Yeah, yes, of course.”

Zayn swallows. “Me and Louis used to date.”

Liam freezes. Zayn goes a few steps and then has to backtrack to get in line with Liam and get him moving again.

“Uh…”

“He used to live in Australia, too, and I was new to town and moved in next door to him. I loved him, Liam, but then Louis applied for a college here so we had to part ways.” Zayn shakes his head, “Harry doesn’t know because… I don’t know, Louis doesn’t want to tell him? But, um, things are pretty tense between us now and I thought that you should know.”

The silence that follows has everything to do with the fact that Liam’s struggling with processing it all. It must seem so strange since Zayn and Louis hardly ever interact at all when they’re together.

“This explains so much.” Liam breathes out with realisation.

Zayn turns to him questionably. “What?”

“When he came here, he was so miserable. Like, nothing I have ever seen before. I thought he was just homesick, y’know? But that sort of stuff bypasses in the first week or so of college, so, like, I knew there was something deeper but I never asked ‘cause it probably wasn’t my place at all. And then, after like a month of ‘homesickness’ he met Harry and perked right up. They got together pretty fast and that was the first time I saw Louis genuinely happy. But then that was over about three months or so into the relationship.”

Zayn doesn’t keep his eye off of Louis the entire time Liam speaks. And all Zayn can think is: I should’ve been here.

“It was gradual, his sadness. And then he eventually went back to his miserable self. Harry doesn’t notice it much since he’s so busy and Louis likes to put on an act and tell people he’s fine when he obviously isn’t. But, anyway, when you came in the picture Louis had brightened up remarkably, but… only when you weren’t around? Honestly, I’d never seen him with that much energy. I never made the connection, though, since when you guys were together he’d pretty much turn the complete opposite. It’s extremely strange, but now he’s—“ Liam stops to gasp.

Zayn turns to him, wide-eyed, “What?”

“Oh, god.”

“What?”

“Louis, today, he’s like… how he was and we’re…” Liam points between him and Zayn, “Shit.”

Zayn shakes his head, “No, Liam, it’s not—“

“We’re the ones making him sad!”

Zayn stops in his tracks and grabs Liam’s shoulders. “Look at me. Don’t feel bad. It’s not you he’s mad at, he knows you don’t, or didn’t, know about us, Okay? But also, Liam, could you imagine how it felt when I moved here and saw Louis with Harry?”

Liam’s eyes soften dramatically, “Oh, Zayn. I didn’t even think about that.”

Zayn nods, “It’s shit, but I had to get over it, didn’t I? So now, Louis can do the same.”

“Oi, lovebirds!” Harry yells up ahead, grinning, “Are you coming or what?”

~

Liam finishes dealing, Zayn already two beers down from when he first arrived and Louis had loosened up a little bit more. Harry’s been constantly rubbing Louis’ thigh, his back, massaging his shoulders, stroking his cheek and Zayn honestly wishes he could be as drunk as he was last night, right now.

“Guessing everyone knows how to play?” Liam asks, looking around the table.

“We’re all twenty-something’s here, Payno. ‘Course we do.” Louis replies with a sneaky grin, sliding his eyes over to Zayn, knowing very well that Zayn’s only nineteen.

“Okay, so we’ll go around, left of me. So, Zayn—?”

“I’d create some distance if I were you two.” Zayn spits out, eyeing between Harry and Louis, “You know, secrecy and all.”

Louis levels him with a look. Harry’s hand freezes where it was rubbing Louis’ neck, his expression confused, looking between the two.

“Uh,” He says, dropping his hand to his lap anyway. He waves his finger at Louis and Zayn, “Do you guys have beef, or?”

Zayn watches as Louis’ eyes flash with something like fear.

“No,” Zayn replies, “I’m just really serious about poker.”

“I’m gonna get more drinks!” Liam announces, voice a pitch higher than usual, before leaping out of his chair and heading off towards the kitchen.

The atmosphere turns thick. Harry’s expression doesn’t relax any more, even as Zayn directs his attention to his fingernails and Louis starts to play with Harry’s hair. Zayn knows he’s probably messed it up, knows that Harry will be asking Louis about it when they’re alone and that Louis will be put on the spot. He hears Liam thrashing around in the kitchen, probably trying to calm himself down from the tension he’s now newly aware of.

“What are you doing later tonight?” Louis whispers, only meant for Harry but obviously loud enough so Zayn can clearly hear. He refrains from snorting.

“You?” Harry replies with a smirk and Louis responds by shaking his head trying not to smile with a fond look that feels like a knife digging straight into Zayn’s chest and…

Oh, god.

It all comes crashing down on him in that moment.

The truth is; he should have never agreed on moving to London. He should have stayed with Niall and kept working at the bookstore and maybe have gone on that double date with Georgie. He should have never gone out with Safaa to get coffee and met Harry, should never have said yes to that party, should never have befriended Harry after knowing Louis was his fucking boyfriend. He should have never mingled his way into their group, or thought that there was a slither of a chance that Louis would love him again, or that they would even be friends, or that seeing him often in anyway possible would fill his black hole-like void that seemed to only grow the more they lock eyes.

Because seeing Harry and Louis, the way they interact, it’s obvious. It’s so damn fucking clear that Louis’ far from moved on, he’ll never wish for Zayn back or forgive him for letting him go and it’s all just so frustrating that Zayn didn’t come to this conclusion sooner.

“’M going toilet.” Zayn mumbles abruptly, not caring if nobody heard, and stands from the table to walk to the bathroom.

He feels eyes on his back as he leaves, but this time they’re not burning through his skin. He opens the door and turns on the sink before splashing his face with water.

He’ll just walk back in, say good-bye, then leave. Maybe he’ll catch up with Liam every now and then, could probably text Harry when Harry talks to him first, but otherwise he knows what he has to do.

When he enters the room, though, it’s only Louis left on the table. Zayn stops at the doorway, looking around for any of the others. Louis’ playing with the deck of cards, lazily shuffling as he’s slumped in his chair, his knee curled up and braced against the table.

“Harry’s on the phone,” Louis says, nodding his head towards the front door, eyes not leaving the deck of cards, “And Liam’s out the back having a cigarette if you want him.”

Zayn doesn’t miss the sourness in his tone. He nods, even though he knows eyes aren’t on him, and begins to head off towards the back veranda.

“I know you guys aren’t serious.”

Zayn’s hand freezes where it’s placed on the door handle. Louis’ voice is a poor attempt at nonchalance, and Zayn audibly sighs.

He turns, arms crossed, “Yeah? And what makes you think that?”

Louis blinks, like he’s surprised Zayn would even respond. “Because,” He shrugs, “I know what you’re like when you’re… You know. Serious with someone.”

Zayn grits his teeth together, “A lot’s changed in a year, Lou.”

He turns back around, shaking his head, ready to leave it.

“Don’t call me that.”

A shiver-type sensation ripples through Zayn’s spine. This time, he takes a few steps towards him. “What?”

“You can’t call me that.”

“Why? Because I’m like a stranger to you?” Zayn asks, watching as Louis refuses to look up at him. “Is that what this is about?”

“This isn’t about anything—“

“And, if I’m a stranger, how would you even know what I’m like when I’m ‘serious’ with someone, Lou?”

Louis slams the cards down on the table, “For fuck’s sake, Zayn, you’re not a stranger.”

Zayn scoffs, “Well, that’s definitely what I felt like when all I got was a nod for a last goodbye.”

“Oh, that is not fair.” Louis argues, standing up, his brows pinched together. “You fucking know that’s not fair. You distanced yourself from me, not the other way around. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn shrugs, exasperated, “Try?”

Louis stares for a couple of moments before shaking his head in disbelief, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. He sits down slowly, turning his attention back to the now scattered cards.

“Do you know… Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to see you in the corridors? We’d lock eyes and,” He gulps, his knuckles turning white from where his nails are digging into his palm, “Nothing. There was nothing there. It was like you had completely detached me from your life. So easily, too.”

Zayn tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, “It wasn’t easy.”

Louis looks up at him, eyes glossy, “Then why’d you do it?”

“It hurt less.” Zayn lies.

“Does it hurt now?”

Zayn feels the knife in his chest twist, the lump in his throat ache. He looks at Louis, so tiny and vulnerable, his eyes beginning to wet. His cheeks and nose have a soft tinge of pink from the cold. His lips are red from gnawing at them like he does when he’s thinking about something. His hair’s all fluffy like it is after a shower and a blow-dry. His hands that fit perfectly in Zayn’s are clenched in fists on top of his gorgeous thighs. He looks at Louis, all ready and waiting for an answer, and Zayn can only whisper it, softer than Louis’ skin:

“Yes.”

Louis hangs his head. Zayn hears him breathe out a shaky exhale. The room feels smaller somehow, suffocating.

It feels like hours before Louis picks his head up, looks over at Zayn’s direction but not daring to lock eyes, and opens his mouth to speak.

He would have done it—speak, that is—if it weren’t for the chance of Harry and Liam both entering back into the house at the same time.

Louis goes into autopilot. He brushes hastily at his eyes for any threatening tears and relaxes back in his chair with fists unclenched. Zayn remains still, his eyebrows pulled together, already coming up with a thousand responses Louis could have said.

“Okay!” Harry says, clapping his hands together, loud enough to make Louis jump a little, “Let’s win some money!”

He sits down at the table but doesn’t look at Louis, instead he fiddles with his chips, making them all aligned.

“Hey,” Liam’s hush voice, accompanied by a warm hand on Zayn’s back appears at his side, “Everything alright?”

Zayn has half the mind to nod, “Yeah, all cool. I think I’m gonna go home, though.”

“What, Malik?” Harry asks, pouting a little, “Don’t leave yet.”

Louis remains facing away from Zayn.

“Nah, I gotta, like, babysit my youngest sister.” It’s a lie that Zayn’s used to telling. The mention of his sister creates a small reaction from Louis, at least.

Liam pats Zayn on the back, “We’ll seen you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, course.” Zayn says, then makes his way through the front door, “Bye, guys.”

He gets a “see you, sexy” from Harry, a “bye, love” from Liam, and silence that could freeze a fire from none other than Louis Tomlinson.

~

Niall answers the Skype call on the second ring, his camera showing him shirtless at his dinner table with a cap on, his wide smile slowly dropping once he sees Zayn’s face.

He leans in closer, elbows up on the table, palms supporting his chin. “I don’t know whether to be insulted by the fact that you’re greeting me with nothing but death in your eyes,” He says, making Zayn scoff, “Or if I should be ecstatic because I finally look better than you.”

“’Ecstatic’, Niall?” Zayn raises a brow, blowing air through his mouth, impressed yet mocking, “Someone’s picked up a dictionary since I’ve been away.”

“And someone’s either eaten a pile of shit or undergone plastic surgery that makes you forever look like you’ve just smelt an awful fart.” Niall leans back in his chair, gesturing to him, “Fill me in. What’s happened to you?”

Zayn smiles, “Did I ever tell you how charming you are?”

“All the fucking time.” Niall grins. “Are you gonna tell me or not?”

“I mean…” Zayn sighs, runs a hand through his hair, “I’d rather not, like, think about it? I was hoping you could tell me about what it’s like back home. What’d you do today?”

Niall doesn’t even question it further. He fills Zayn in about how his parents are pressuring him to move out since his older brother did a month after he graduated, tells him about his girlfriend and how he think he’s going to marry her, talks extensively about his hour-to-hour schedule he did today—including toilet breaks—and basically takes Zayn’s mind off of everything for thirty-four minutes.

It’s exactly what he needed.

“So,” Niall says, “You really okay with keepin’ things bottled up?”

Zayn nods, “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Love you, Ni.”

Niall leaps up from his chair and leans closer to the camera to kiss it, “Aww, love you too, Zaynie-pie, mwah!”

He kisses the screen repetitively, making Zayn almost fall out of his own chair from laughter, and when Niall gets his tongue out and moves it around as though he were licking Zayn, Zayn scolds him for it and ends the call.

The room falls uncomfortably silent, and for the first time since he’s moved, he feels homesick.

~

He’s lying on the couch, Doniya with her hands fiddling with Zayn’s fringe on her lap. He’s told her everything, and Doniya has only hummed and ahh’d throughout the entire story, coaxing her fingers relaxingly through his hair. It’s something they’ve done since Zayn’s ever known, it’s like an unpaid therapy session.

“You’re really gone for him, huh?” Doniya asks once he’s officially done. Zayn can only nod weakly. “Well, as they say, if you love something you have to let it go.”

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts, “And look at where that got us the first time.”

“You came to him,” Doniya shrugs, “Now it’s time for him to come to you.”

“He won’t come to me.”

Doniya stops combing through his hair, “Well, he better. Confessions on his behalf are in order.”

Zayn sits up, “Does that mean I’m the good guy in all of this, now?”

“No. You’re still the douche.”

With a roll of his eyes and a light slap on Doniya’s leg, Zayn starts to get up from the couch before his phone begins to vibrate on the coffee table. Zayn looks over at it, then clenches his jaw.

“Who is it?” Doniya asks.

Zayn picks it up. “Liam.”

“Answer!” She tells him, “It’s been a week, he probably misses you.”

Zayn takes in a breath and answers it. “Hey, Li.”

With Doniya’s trained eyes, Zayn decides to swiftly leave the room.

“Mate, come to the park near Harry’s house in, like, ten minutes, yeah?” Liam replies, faster than usual.

Zayn takes a moment to register it. “What? I’m—I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” Liam tells him with a short laugh, “We all know you’ve been avoiding us. Hang out with me, man.”

With his forefinger and thumb pressed against the bridge of his nose, Zayn closes his eyes. “You know I would but I—“

“What if I told you it wouldn’t be awkward?” Liam asks, making Zayn almost squawk.

“No! I didn’t think it would be, that’s not why I—“

Liam chuckles softly, “Just get your butt over here.”

Then the line goes dead and Zayn finds himself with his head leaning against the wall. Truth is, he could just ignore it completely. But he also knows that Liam knows where Zayn lives, and given the body mass comparison Liam could easily swing Zayn over his shoulder and carry him to whatever destination Liam has planned. Besides, how is a harmless day at the park bad for him? Liam probably wants someone else to talk to other than a loved-up couple for once.

With a deep, heavy sigh, he leans off the wall and trudges into the living room. Doniya hasn’t moved from the couch, and is now looking at him with waiting eyes.

“Looks like I’m going to the park.” Zayn says, picking up his jacket.

“Woo-hoo!” Doniya claps, “Congrats on finally getting out of the house!”

Zayn leaves with his middle-finger pointed upwards, rightfully so.

The day’s a little warmer than they have been, and the sun is finally making an appearance from behind the clouds. It’s still not nearly warm enough to compare to back home, but he guesses seeing the sun makes for a good sign, so he takes it.

If Zayn was honest with himself, he’d admit that he’s missed Liam a lot. They have a good bond, something that probably would have stuck if it weren’t for the circumstances.

He pulls up to the lot where Harry’s coffee shop stands. It’s around three in the afternoon and the crowd is definitely not as busy as the first time he came here with Safaa. As he gets out of the car, he spots a figure leaning against the wall of the coffee shop, and recognises Liam before Liam sees him.

“Hey, man.” Zayn calls, waving at him.

Liam looks around until his eyes land on him and grins, “You came!”

They embrace in a hug and Zayn slaps his shoulder lightly, “Course I did. Missed you, you know?”

“Missed you too, Malik.” Liam beams, throwing his arm over Zayn’s shoulders and leading him towards the park. “So, what’ve you been up to besides avoiding me?”

Zayn lets out a shocked laugh, “You know why I am, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Liam pulls him into his side, “I know.”

They walk over a grassy hill until they see the park. It’s huge, with so much greenery and a playground and a small pond with picnic tables and—

Oh, no.

Zayn takes a large step away from Liam, making his arm drop off his shoulders.

“You told me this wouldn’t be awkward!”

Liam flushes red, “Listen, I know, but it’s—“

“God, Liam,” Zayn shakes his head, “What is this? Some kind of intervention?”

“No! It’s…” Liam sighs deeply, “We thought it would be a good idea, you know? Like, you both deserve some serious closure, don’t you think?”

Zayn swallows deeply and looks over towards where Harry is talking to Louis enthusiastically while Louis sits there, looking bored as he dips his tea bag in his hot water continuously.

“So, if we get some sort of ‘closure’, that’ll be it?” Zayn asks Liam, eyes still on Louis, “Louis can live his life with Harry and I can live mine?”

“Yeah,” Liam says immediately. “Of course.” He picks up on Zayn’s sudden nerves and places a hand on his back, urging him forward. “C’mon, it’ll be fine. You can leave whenever you want.”

Zayn almost snorts at that, getting the permission to leave. But instead, he puts one foot in front of the other and walks closer towards where they’re sitting at the picnic table. Harry sees him first.

“Mate!” Harry greets, eyes brightening, “What’re you doing here?”

Zayn looks at Liam, oddly confused. Harry didn’t know about this plan? Then that means when Liam said ‘we’ he meant—

“Louis, where’d you buy that tea?” Liam asks him, avoiding Zayn’s stare.

He doesn’t get a chance to catch Louis’ response before he’s enveloped into a hug, Harry’s hair almost stuffing into Zayn’s mouth. He lets him go and Zayn returns his smile before sitting down at the table.

Louis doesn’t pick his head up much when Liam and Harry delve into a conversation. Zayn zones out of it as soon as it starts, though, because when he focuses on Louis—blowing the steam off his tea, tracing his finger around the rip of the cup, staring at the wood of the table—it reminds him of when they first met, all those months ago at his own dinner table. He remembers how shy Louis had been, yet how captivating he was all the same. He was a complete stranger, yet Zayn couldn’t take his eyes off him as though Louis was the most interesting person Zayn’s ever met.

And now, even after all of this, Zayn finds himself staring yet again.

“Where’d you say the bathrooms were, mate?” Liam asks, directed at Harry.

“Uh, like, over there.” Harry says, pointing through a couple of trees, “Want me to come with?”

Liam nods and they leave the table; not without Liam patting Zayn’s back and Harry pecking Louis’ cheek, though.

Louis takes a sip of tea, rubs his nose, pulls his sweater down so it goes over his hands, fixes his fringe, and basically does everything under the sun so he doesn’t stop moving. It’s sort of aggravating, really, because before Zayn could’ve easily wrapped Louis up in his arms, made him settle, kiss his head, and talk about whatever came to their minds. But now… Now, Zayn sort of wants to scream.

“So, what’s all this for, then?” Zayn asks, probably a little bit louder and forceful than he had intended to sound.

Louis looks up at him for the first time today, eyebrows raised. “Skipping the small talk now, are we?”

Zayn rolls his eyes with a smirk, “C’mon, we both know it’s a bad idea to hang out any more than we have already.”

Louis looks at him for a brief moment before he looks down at his hands which are now fiddling together. He shrugs once, then looks at him again.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, disbelieving, “Funny.”

“Why do you?” Louis questions, brow arched.

“Uh, because you have Harry, maybe?” Zayn answers, frowning slightly, “S’bit weird to have your ex around, like, lingering in the corner.”

“Liam told me you guys aren’t a real thing.” Louis says, ignoring Zayn completely.

It makes Zayn roll his eyes to the back of his skull. He starts to laugh, shaking his head.

“Is that why you made Liam bring me here? So you could gloat about being right?”

Louis shakes his head profusely, “No, Zayn. Of course not.”

“Then what’s this about, really? We’ve yet to have a proper conversation since I’ve moved here and now you choose to act on that?”

With a sigh, Louis says, “I just… Need to hear you say one thing.”

Zayn feels his palms start to sweat, “Say what?”

“Well, uh, you said that this,” Louis says, waving his finger loosely between the two of them, “Still hurts you—“

“That I did.”

“—and I’m wondering whether that means something else? Like, when I ask you this one thing, you have to be honest, alright?”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t even have to be, like, a solid answer it can just be a yes or a no and then walk away if you want—“

“Louis, you’re babbling. Ask me.”

“Do you still love me?”

Zayn takes a moment to register the question. Half because the answer automatically went to the tip of his tongue, ready to say it without hesitation. And half because Zayn never even told Louis he loved him. Neither of them did.

Louis must know this. And it must be a ploy, some kind of twisted game that makes Zayn admit that he was in love with him this entire time just so he can, what? Go home and think about it as though one simple yes or no will change his mind? Give him that ‘closure’ that Liam was talking about? Let Zayn down easy and tell him that he doesn’t love him back?

He locks eyes with Louis again, and poses him a different question instead:

“Why doesn’t Harry know about us?”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“Why doesn’t Harry know about us?” Zayn repeats, painstakingly slower.

Louis looks affronted, “You can’t just avoid the question!”

“You give me an answer and I’ll give you mine.” Zayn replies back, calm.

Louis slumps, looking defeated. He glances over at the toilets, where there still isn’t any sign of Harry or Liam.

“It’s because I… If he knew, about you and I?” Louis begins, “He would exile you completely. Like, he’s very… I don’t know. He wouldn’t trust you with me.”

Zayn’s eyes widen. He blinks a couple of times, and Louis glances away, almost embarrassed.

“Exile me?” Zayn asks in disbelief. Louis nods. “Wow, quite a catch you got there. But don’t let it be forgotten that I know you wanted me around, now, Tomlinson.”

Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes, and… Is that a smile?

“Your turn.” Louis says, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in anticipation.

Zayn smiles at him and shrugs. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

He almost wants to giggle at the fact that Louis looks like he’s about to burst. His eyes slowly grow in wideness and he’s fish-mouthing with no words coming out. It’s either the face you make when you find out you’ve just been robbed or just won the lottery. Zayn prays it’s the latter.

But then two bodies plop down on either side of them and Zayn begins to realise that Liam and Harry have a reputation of interrupting Louis from speechlessness.

“Well,” Zayn announces, standing from the table, “This has been great, but I gotta go.”

He ignores all the protests that follow and blows them all kisses before turning around and leaving. He doesn’t miss the “Louis, babe, you alright?” that Harry asks before Zayn’s out of earshot, though.

~

Zayn gets home that night partially overwhelmed.

He had thought for months on how to tell Louis he loved him when they were together. He had gone through what seemed like a million different scenarios in his head followed by reasons why he shouldn’t do it. But not once did he think it could come out from Louis asking him, a year later, when they were headed down two different paths.

He throws the car keys into the bowl near the front door and takes off his jacket. Thankfully, nobody’s in the front room so he’s able to go directly upstairs and straight to his room.

“I just need to hear you say one thing.” Why did Louis even want to know? Did he tell Liam to bring Zayn to the park to ask him that?

Zayn dresses down to his boxer shorts and slips into bed, throwing an arm over his eyes as he lies on his back. He fiddles around for his stereo remote and turns it on blindly, suddenly too zapped from energy to even pick a song, letting it shuffle.

He lets it play, letting his mind wander. He thinks about what happened after he left the park, about what was going through Louis’ head. He wonders why Liam hasn’t sent him a text yet, or how Louis replied to Harry’s “you alright?”. He wonders if his own answer, one that came so nonchalantly, changed Louis’ mind whatsoever.

Zayn realises that he shouldn’t be wondering about this at all, actually.

He gets up from his bed, takes a shower, grabs something to eat, has a smoke, looks up flights back to Australia, texts Niall, and evidently ends up back in bed. He curls up into himself and closes his eyes, considering going back home and bunking with Niall somewhere, for the rest of time.

A ringing sensation and light makes him frown a little, thinking it’s an alarm. He taps his phone, trying to snooze, but then he slowly realises the sound is his ringtone. He blinks his eyes awake, noticing that it’s now, remarkably, night-time.

But when he looks down at his phone, his heart stops.

It’s Louis.

He’s probably either drunk, high, in trouble, or something else that Zayn has trouble coming to terms with.

He takes a second to clear his throat and then answers the call. “Yeah?”

“Zayn,” Louis breathes on the other line immediately, relieved. “Did I wake you?”

“Uh,” Zayn glances at the clock on his bedtime table that reads 3:16AM. He runs a hand over his face, “What’d’ya want?”

“Can you come outside?” Louis asks, and that’s when Zayn registers Louis’ subtle sniffs, “Please?”

Then Zayn blinks a couple of times and is suddenly, as fast as he’s ever been, awake. “Louis, you’re outside my house?”

A pause. Then, “Yes.”

Zayn frowns, “How do you even know where I live?”

“Liam told me. Look, Zayn, I—“ Louis breaks off, then audibly swallows. “Please just come outside. It’s so fucking cold.”

“Why are you even here?!” Zayn breaks, sitting up. He shakes his head again, then peers out the window trying to spot him. He’s there, pacing the drive-way, phone to his ear, arm hugging his middle trying to stay warm. “Like, what the fuck, Louis?”

He sees Louis stand still, and for a second there’s only faint breathing on the other line. Zayn thinks Louis might cock his head to the side, an eyebrow raised, shrug and then scoff, say something like Zayn was always unreliable, and then hang up.

Instead—because if there’s one thing Zayn should have learnt about him, is that he’s always unpredictable—he responds with Zayn’s accent on his tongue.

“Don’t sound so pleased to hear from me, Malik. Take it down a notch.”

And just like that, the déjà vu of him waiting outside Louis’ house in the middle of the night, pleading Louis to come out so he can apologise to him a year ago flood his mind. Zayn can’t help but let out a surprised chuckle at the re-enactment.

He decides to play along, because why the hell not, and does his best Louis voice, “Is this a fucking booty call?!”

He watches as Louis throws his head back, his laugh filling Zayn’s ears. And oh, god. That sound shouldn’t bring such nostalgia. He made Louis laugh again.

“My voice is not that high-pitched.” He argues, now standing with his hip cocked out, hand placed on it defensively.

“Hey,” Zayn says, moving closer towards the window and turning on his lamp so Louis can see inside.

“Yeah?”

“Look up.”

Louis tilts his head up and his eyes go directly to the light, meeting Zayn’s eyes. Zayn makes out the tiniest smile forming on Louis’ lips.

“Are you expecting me to climb into your window? Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Zayn, but my rock-climbing skills aren’t exactly up to scratch.”

Zayn chuckles again and he shakes his head, “No, I’ll come down. Hold up.”

He hangs up and throws on a hoodie and tracksuit pants before jogging down the stairs softly. Luckily, his parents’ bedroom is secluded from the rest of the house so the risk of them waking is slim. He opens the front door and he assesses Louis immediately.

He’s rugged up a lot more than Zayn is, but of course he’s still freezing. His hair is still immaculate but Zayn notices his fingernails, or what’s left, and realises something’s definitely wrong. When Louis steps forward, he gets coated underneath the porch lights and Zayn can see his red-rimmed eyes, drops of tears that still linger on his eyelashes and his face that’s slightly red from crying.

Zayn swallows. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“What happened?” Zayn whispers, knowing that his face probably gives away that he’s way too concerned but he can’t find it in himself to disguise himself at all.

Louis scrunches his nose up, rubs his hands together and looks at the sky.

“You were right.” He says, before looking back at Zayn, “About Harry not knowing about us.”

Shit.

Zayn shakes his head continuously, stepping towards him, “No, look, it’s fair enough—“

“It wasn’t.” Louis tells him. He looks down at his shoes, “I, uh, I told him.”

Zayn takes in a deep breath. “Oh, Lou.” He goes to reach out and touch Louis but he thinks better of it, and drops his hand.

Louis sniffs and nods weakly. “Yeah, he, um.” He laughs, weaker. “He broke up with me. Just like that.”

A coin drops somewhere in the silence.

Zayn’s pretty sure the blood drains from his system, and he’s left white-faced. “He what?!”

“He said ‘if we don’t have honesty then we don’t have a relationship at all’. Which, y’know, is something he told me from the start, but… Whatever. He also said something about me not being the same…”

Zayn tunes out. His mind crosses over to Harry, how he would’ve reacted. Zayn slightly wants to ask Harry why the fuck he would let Louis go for something so little. But as soon as he admits that would be highly hypocritical he settles on firing his anger towards him for how he’s made Louis feel right now.

“…Isn’t like we didn’t see it coming, though, to be fair.” Louis shrugs, “Guess it was due to happen? I don’t know.”

Zayn doesn’t hesitate this time. He takes another few steps forward and wraps his arms around Louis, hugging him tightly. He’s unashamed when he tilts his face into Louis’ neck and closes his eyes.

Louis takes a moment until he’s melting into it completely. He throws his arms around Zayn’s neck and pulls Zayn closer towards him, his chin resting comfortably on Zayn’s shoulder, his nose brushing up against the skin where Zayn’s shoulder and neck meet. He feels Louis nails on his back as his hand scrunch up Zayn’s hoodie.

They stay there for a moment or two before one of them starts to sway softly. Louis feels so unbelievably warm and perfect and the motion of them swaying together makes Zayn’s heart fill to the brim, ready to burst.

Louis nuzzles in closer and Zayn can feel Louis’ smile against his neck. If Zayn could squeeze him any more, he’d be sure to break.

“I’m here for you, Lou.” Zayn drops his voice down to a whisper, smoothing his hand down Louis’ back.

Louis sniffs, “Thank you.”

They pull apart gradually; Louis wipes his eyes.

“Sorry I’ve been such a dick.” He says.

Zayn smiles, “You’re forgiven.”

Louis rolls his eyes and slaps Zayn’s arm. “I’m not gonna admit that I didn’t have a reason to be a dick, though.”

Zayn shrugs, “I was a dick, too. We’re even.”

Louis’ smile makes his eyes curve and Zayn’s stomach flips a little, “We’re just a bunch of dicks, then.”

Zayn stifles a loud laugh and crinkles appear on the sides of Louis’ eyes. This whole situation, this feeling, it’s like no time as passed at all.

“Did you, uh,” Zayn gestures towards the house, noticing the small goosebumps on Louis’ skin, “Wanna come inside?”

Louis’ eyes widen a little, “I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

“’Course it is, idiot.”

Louis nods, “Alright.”

They enter the house which is perfectly eerie, not a trace that anyone lived here now that Zayn thinks about it. He senses Louis’ tenseness as he enters the main room.

“This is bloody bigger than your old house.” He whispers, sure to not wake anyone. “How’s that possible?”

Zayn chuckles softly and places a hand on Louis’ back to guide him to the stairs. He notices Louis’ tiny jump at the touch and Zayn takes his hand away immediately. It’s second nature to him. Baby steps, Zayn thinks.

Once they reach Zayn’s bedroom Louis looks around it—the bed, the wardrobe, the artworks—but he stops to look at something in particular. Zayn’s photo frames. There’s one of him and Niall, after having a stupid mud fight at the football oval and being absolutely covered, grinning like idiots with their arms wrapped around each other. There’s another one of Zayn in his graduation outfit and certificate, smiling big for the camera. The last one is of Zayn and his three sisters, all sitting on the couch, Zayn pinching Safaa’s cheek as she sits on his lap and Waliyha looking at them weirdly while Doniya laughs.

He gages Louis’ expression, scrunched up like he’s displeased. He’s frowning as he scans the photos and looks closer at the one of him and Niall.

“Getting a good look?” Zayn asks, coming up behind him.

Louis bites his lip and stares at the graduation photo, “There’s so many things in your life that I’ve missed. It’s… I don’t know, weird. Seeing photos of you in moments that I didn’t witness and with people I’ve never seen before.”

“Tell me about it.” Zayn says, “When I saw you at Harry’s party with a whole different group of people in a different setting, like, it sort of felt like I didn’t know you at all?”

Louis looks at him, amused, “Wait, you were at Harry’s party?”

Zayn smiles awkwardly, “Yeah…”

“And, what, you saw me and left?”

“Fucking hell, I ran like the Road Runner.”

Louis laughs, folding over himself and holding onto his stomach. “Holy shit. So you knew Harry and I were together, then?”

“Yeah, Harry introduced me to you from far away as his boyfriend and I nearly barfed then and there.”

“Oh, wow,” Louis says, slightly out of breath from laughing, “I’m just, like, picturing your face in that moment.”

“Yeah? Well, I bet it looked better than the five thousand grimaces I copped from you.”

“Hey, they were well deserved.” Louis shoots back, pointing at him.

Zayn grabs his finger as Louis pokes his tongue out, “You’re such a child.”

“Shut up.”

Louis rolls his eyes but Zayn sees the smile quirking at his lips. Zayn’s grinning, his eyes looking slightly down to meet Louis’, and that’s when Zayn realises he’s grown and has gotten taller than Louis since he last saw him.

But Zayn’s grin slowly fades when Louis doesn’t break eye contact. He sees something with the way he looks at him. There’s a tension between their bodies that was once there before, something so similar that for a moment Zayn forgets that they ever broke apart.

And Louis must have forgotten to breathe, because the moment he takes a breath he drops his eyes like Zayn drops his finger.

“So,” Zayn clears his throat, turning away, “You can stay the night, if you want? My bed’s available here, so you’re more than welcome to crash in it, I can take the couch and then we can talk in the morning, if you want? Like, you must be pretty tired—“

Zayn’s words are cut off by Louis’ lips.

He had done it so quickly, placing a hand on Zayn’s shoulder to spin him around and then closing the gap before Zayn could even look at him properly.

At first, Zayn freezes up, like it’s someone foreign. But then it hits him all at once.

The soft, tender lips against his own. Louis’ scent, this close to him as he breathes through his nose. The familiarity of Louis’ entire presence being with him, and how it all fits—unlike all those people that felt out of place—and the rush that Zayn feels through his spine, blood, being, that made him feel alive whenever he and Louis kissed.

But then it’s over in an instant and Zayn’s suddenly cold.

His eyes flutter open, meeting Louis’, who’s now a few steps away from him, fingers tentatively touching his own lips.

Zayn swallows once, “You—“

“I know.” Louis says, “I’m sorry.”

“What? Louis, don’t—don’t be sorry.” Zayn steps forward, placing a hand around Louis’ bicep. Louis leans into it. Zayn lets his thumb glide over the fabric of Louis’ sweater softly. He places a finger underneath Louis’ chin and tilts it up so Louis’ looking at him. “I love you, remember?”

A faint tinge of pink decorates Louis’ cheeks. He looks down again, this time with a small smile, his eyelashes looking like a delicate fan over his skin. When he looks up again, his face is filled with conviction, even more so when he whispers, “I love you too, you know? Always have.”

Zayn’s heart clenches. He takes a moment to take it in before enveloping Louis into a hug.

“I’ve missed you.” Zayn tells him, “So much.”

Louis shakes his head, “God, me too. I’ve been a mess.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything because he knows. He knows from when Liam told him how Louis’ been, like he hasn’t been happy for a long time. How he hasn’t been himself since he got here, that Harry gave him temporary happiness but it had faded.

He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t need to. Instead, he lets Louis hold him tighter and kisses his head.

~

Zayn wakes with a loud pounding on his bedroom door. He rolls over and calls at whoever’s there to come in. The door swings open abruptly and suddenly there’s a very angry Waliyha standing at the end of his bed.

“Want to explain why there’s a certain Louis fucking Tomlinson in our kitchen having breakfast with our parents?”

Zayn sits up. Holy shit.

“He, uh,” He rubs a hand over his face, then through his hair, “He stayed over last night?”

“Did you fuck?”

“Jesus Christ, Waliyha—“

“Did you?”

“No!” Zayn says, only to be met with a questionable glare. “We talked, a lot, and… Somehow fell asleep together.”

“Aww,” Waliyha coos sarcastically. “Well, you might wanna save him before mum and dad kidnap him as their own.”

She leaves his room and Zayn face plants into his pillow.

~

“…Don’t tell me that! I don’t wanna hear it, Yaser.”

“C’mon, Louis, sure you do.” Zayn’s dad chuckles, followed by Louis’ half-hearted scoff. “Told us to fill him in on everything, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Zayn’s mum seconds.

“Trish! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Louis openly gapes, mock-offended. Zayn leans up against the doorway of the kitchen, a slight smirk on his lips as he watches the interaction.

Zayn’s mum holds both her hands up, “Hey, I’m Switzerland.”

Zayn’s dad throws an arm around his mum and grins, “’Course you are.”

And… Weird.

Louis seems to eye the contact, too, a puzzled look on his face. He doesn’t question it, though, instead rolls his eyes good-naturedly and takes a sip of tea.

“So, how’s the family, Lou?” Zayn’s mum asks, “How’s Jay?”

Zayn steps in on that, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to pester your guests?”

He looks at both his mum and dad and they both shoo him away with their hands. Louis’ eyes fly up at his presence and smiles at him tentatively, like he’s unsure of what Zayn’s feelings are, what his next moves will be. And it’s slightly like a slap in the face because of the first time Louis slept in Zayn’s bed, Zayn kicked him out the next morning through the window.

Jesus Christ, Zayn really doesn’t blame Louis for leaving, actually.

“How’d you sleep?” Louis asks him, any sign of puffiness from crying totally disappeared.

Zayn smiles at him, sits down next to him, “Great. You?”

Louis nods, smiles, “Great.”

“Zayn,” Yaser starts, casually, “Your mother and I would like to know when you and Louis started sleeping together again.”

Louis spits on his tea on the table. Zayn freezes up.

“God, Yaser, you’d think a man your age would have some tact.” Trisha scolds, grabbing a napkin to wipe up Louis’ small spillage.

“What?” Yaser defends, “They’re adults now. Besides, think we have a right to know when Zayn’s sneaking Louis in in the middle of the night.”

“Dad—“

“No, you’re right.” Louis says. Zayn darts his eyes to him. “It wasn’t right of me to show up uninvited. But, um, we’re not sleeping together.”

“LOUIEEEEEEE”

All heads spin around to a running Safaa making her way speedily across the floorboards. Her grin almost splits her face despite her eyes still half-shut from just waking up. It’s Louis’ expression, though, that makes Zayn’s heart clench the same way it did when Louis told him he loved him. He’s looking at Safaa with such admiration and joy, picking her up in his arms and squeezing her so tight that she giggles.

“My god, you’ve grown.” Louis says in his best old-relative voice, making her laugh even more.

Zayn glances at his parents and double-takes when he finds them already looking at Zayn, their expressions crossed between fond and curiosity. He frowns at them, sceptical, and they look away immediately, clearing their throats and pretending to busy themselves.

“Zaynie said you’d be here in London.” Safaa tells Louis, “Me and the girls wanted you and him to see each other straight away but Zayn said no because he thought you wouldn’t want to see him and that you wouldn’t answer his texts if he tried to text—“

“Okay, little lady,” Zayn interrupts, eyes wide, “That’s enough from you for today.”

He picks Safaa up off the lap of an extremely amused Louis, and sets her on the floor. She protests weakly until Zayn tells her she can come back later and she agrees. When Zayn locks eyes with Louis, he shakes his head.

“Don’t start.”

“Discussing me with your sisters, now?”

“Shutup.”

“Thought I’d never reply, hey?”

“Louis.”

“Didn’t think I’d want to see you?” Louis steps closer to him, “Oh, how precious of you.”

Zayn nudges him away, “I hate you.”

“Ooh,” Louis attacks his middle, fingertips tickling his sides, making Zayn squirm in surprise, “Hate me so much.”

“Hey!” Zayn protests, backing away but only reaching a wall in the other room. He tries to bat Louis’ fingers away but the little shit has always been too quick for him.

“So much so,” Louis grins, speeding up his attacks, making Zayn almost scream with laughter, “That you just had to talk about me.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“No?” Louis stops all motions and leans in closer, making Zayn’s breath hitch. He leans in as close to Zayn’s ear as possible, his soft tuffs of breath making Zayn’s skin raise. “Shame.”

And then Zayn’s watching as Louis walks away, as casual as anything, leaving Zayn slightly breathless, from either the tickling or the close proximity, and apparent blue balls. What a delight.

~

A month later and Zayn finds himself in a library with Louis next to him, textbooks and a laptop open, scattered all over a four-people table, hands in his hair and muttered curse words just loud enough from Louis’ mouth to be heard over the quietness.

“Louis, just—“

“Do not,” Louis warns, eyes locking onto his with as much anger as he can muster, “Start.”

Zayn can’t help but giggle a little and takes Louis’ hand, strokes his thumb over the back of it and watches as Louis visibly relaxes. “Should I get you a tea, babe?”

Louis smiles weakly, eyes filled with graciousness, and nods.

“Okay, babe,” He lifts Louis’ hand to his lips and gives it a quick kiss, “I’ll be back soon.”

He gets up from the table and heads towards the small café just outside of the library.

Louis’ been studying for finals for a few days now, and Zayn’s never read out that many cue cards or asked that many questions in his life. Louis’ been stressed out of his mind and Zayn’s only job is to make sure Louis doesn’t become insane—which consists of constant tea breaks, massages on demand, and countless kisses—it’s possibly the only job Zayn’s excelled at.

He goes into the café and orders a tea for Louis and a coffee for himself. It’s quite packed for a Sunday afternoon but considering all the bags full of books and dead-eyed twenty-something’s, they’ve got finals coming up, too.

Zayn gets handed his drinks and leaves the shop, eager to get back to Louis as soon as possible. He gets as far as a few feet from the doorway when—

“Zayn?”

His chest quite literally concaves into himself. He reluctantly turns around, and, yep. There’s Harry, hair chopped and eyes wide with books in his left arm.

“Harry,” Zayn breathes out.

They haven’t spoken since Harry ended things with Louis. Harry and Liam still remain friends, and Louis and Zayn and Liam still remain friends. So Harry must know about Louis and Zayn. Zayn gnaws at his lip hard enough that he tastes blood.

“What’re you doing around here?” Harry asks, knowing Zayn’s not studying anything, and then glances at the two cups in his hand. And, fucking hell, what a position to be put in.

“Louis—he’s, uh, studying for finals.” He says the whole sentence without meeting Harry’s eye.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Harry laughs a little but it’s so painfully off that Zayn inwardly cringes. “Well, I should—“

“Did you wanna say hi?”

As soon as he says it he thinks back to his childhood and wonders what he did that made his brain this fucking small.

“No, that’s okay.” Harry says and Zayn nods a bit too forcefully, “But it was good to see you, man.”

“Y-yeah, you too. I like your haircut.”

Harry’s eyes brighten and Zayn doesn’t feel like such a douche.

“I’ll see you ‘round.” Harry says with a smile, and walks passed him with a clap on his back.

Zayn regulates his breathing and then he’s off, racing towards the table again. Louis eyes almost bulge out of his head when he catches sight of Zayn.

“Why the fuck are you looking like that?”

“Lou,” Zayn says, he sits down, resting the cups on the table, “You’ll never guess who I just saw.”

Louis’ face full of exasperation softly changes into something more amused, more loving. He shakes his head and gets out of his chair to crawl into Zayn’s lap.

“A celebrity?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, pulling Louis closer, “No. Harry.”

Louis blinks, “Really?”

He looks over Zayn’s shoulder, scanning the room.

“Outside, near the café.” Zayn reassures him. “Like, what are the chances.”

“Pretty high, actually,” Louis smirks, “Considering we go to the same university.” He bops Zayn’s nose. “Did you talk?”

He nods. “Not much. He looks well, though.”

“He does?” Louis’ eyebrows rise up, then starts to smile, “Good.”

Zayn smiles, too, then leans up to kiss him. Louis’ fingers trail up and down the back of Zayn’s neck and Zayn feels all the tension release from Louis as he runs his hands up and down his back slowly.

They’re tucked away in the corner of the library, partially hidden from bookcases and walls. Louis pulls away and looks around.

“You know,” Louis fiddles with the neckline of Zayn’s shirt, his blue eyes glistening under the poor orange-tinted lights, “We could quite easily get off right now without anyone knowing.”

Zayn throws his head back with a laugh, Louis following with a giggle. Someone in the distance tells them to shut up.

They both continue to snicker, until they eventually regain themselves and pretend to be serious.

“Right.” Louis says, a tinge of pink in his cheeks, “Time to study.”

Zayn tries to contain the butterflies dancing inside of his stomach, but even as Louis’ crawls off him and he’s left slightly colder, he’s still smiling to himself when he’s able to tuck Louis close to his side as Louis types on his keyboard and kiss him whenever he wants.

And this time round, words don’t go unspoken. Zayn tells him he loves him every chance he can.

“Ugh, I love you,” Louis says after taking a long sip of his tea.

And Zayn returns it like the next lyric to a song, and presses a kiss into Louis’ hair, pulling him closer.


End file.
